


Stranded

by Katiemonz



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Cigarettes, Fighting, Gen, Survival, alcohol mention, bad words galore, drug mention, enemies to besties, eventually, ever wondered how the heck phobos and meouch became friends?? me too, some blood, there will be friendship, there will be laughs, there will be tears, they curse each other out and fight a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katiemonz/pseuds/Katiemonz
Summary: Lord Phobos and Commander Meouch would each love nothing more than for the other to die. Meouch destroyed Phobos's civilization. Phobos made Meouch's life a living hell. But when a heated battle ends with them both stranded on a deserted planet, they're going to have to work together if they want to survive.AKA, how Meouch and Phobos went from deadly enemies to rock n' roll best friends.
Comments: 45
Kudos: 58





	1. i got this fucking thorn in my side

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa! Hey! New fic time! I've been working on this one for a long time (and reworking... and then reworking a third time...) but it's finally at a point where I'm ready to put it down and get it out into the world. You don't need to have read any of my other stuff to enjoy this, though there will eventually be a couple nods to my other works for those who are paying attention.
> 
> Edited by [theashemarie!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie) Thanks so much babe for making this fic the best it can be!

Meouch’s ship slammed into the asteroid hard. It skidded and tumbled along its surface in the low gravity, and slowly rumbled to a stop. Its left wing was gone, shot clean off by a blast from Lord Phobos’s ship, and Meouch counted himself lucky that his harness held him in place and his cockpit wasn’t filled with flames.

Lord Phobos’s civilization had completely collapsed about three weeks ago, and Meouch had been on the run ever since, because for whatever reason, Phobos blamed him for the whole thing. Sure, he happened to smuggle some Funk onto the planet the day before it all went down. Sure, _something_ spread across the planet like a plague, killed almost all the inhabitants, and drove the survivors completely mad, but it wasn’t Funk. It couldn’t have been. None of this was his fault, there was no way in hell! But apparently Phobos seemed to think so, and now Meouch was in a smoldering husk of a ship in the middle of an asteroid field, with plenty of bruises and a fierce headache.

“Okay, motherfucker,” Meouch grumbled, tugging on his helmet and locking it into place. “You wanna fight? I’ll show you a fucking fight.” He made sure his blaster was attached to his hip, kicked the cockpit hatch open, and climbed out.

Phobos was already standing on top of his own landed ship, with his jetpack humming and glowing red, and his sword drawn. All-gold armor, standing there all high and mighty, silent and dramatic. Ugh, this guy. Meouch didn’t even _have_ a planet to call home, and you didn’t see _him_ taking a vow of silence. Pretentious nobleman pricks. When Phobos first hailed his ship three weeks ago with the computer-generated message that he wanted revenge and that he’d gone voluntarily mute to honor his people, Meouch’s eyes had practically rolled out of his skull. How fucking archaic could a guy get? How the hell was a vow of silence supposed to help anybody? It at least meant that Meouch didn’t have to hear him talk, but still, hearing the same pre-recorded message each time they met was starting to get old. The whole act was so holier-than-thou. It pissed Meouch off then, and it _really_ pissed him off now. Phobos really just had to go and destroy his ship, didn’t he? Well, now Meouch was just going to have to kill _him_ and steal _his_ ship. Not exactly his idea of a fun afternoon, but he supposed nothing involving Phobos was fun. Probably because he was the Lord of some square-ass no-fun planet. What a jerk.

A transmission came over Meouch’s radio, broadcasting right to his helmet. “My name is Lord Phobos,” said a monotone robotic voice. Ugh, again with this shit. “Commander Meouch, you killed my people. You brought about the end of my civilization, of my home, of everything I knew. I have taken a vow of silence, not to be broken until you are dead.”

“I _know,_ asshole!” Meouch yelled, unholstering his blaster from his hip. “You send me the same exact goddamn message every time your ship gets in range! Will you _stop?!”_

Phobos tilted his head to the side. His expression was unreadable through his dark visor. He pointed his golden sword directly at Meouch, and his jetpack started to expel fire and smoke.

Meouch fired and landed a few shots with his blaster, though Phobos’s armor protected him from most of the damage. Phobos rushed him, slammed into him with all the force of that jetpack. Meouch went flying back. He tumbled across the surface of the asteroid, spinning, trying to get some sort of purchase with his hands and feet before he escaped its weak gravity entirely. He jammed his heel into a crater to slow himself down and fired three more shots, one of which connected with Phobos’s leg. Phobos came at him with the sword, swinging down at his head. Meouch blocked with his blaster, holding it with both hands while still searching for his footing. He found it and sidestepped, throwing Phobos off of him.

“Hey, douchebag!” Meouch yelled. “I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ sick of this! How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t do shit!” Phobos, surprise surprise, didn’t respond, aside from swinging his sword wildly in Meouch’s direction. Meouch jumped back, narrowly avoiding the furious swings. He sailed backwards in the low gravity, the toes of his boots just skimming the rocky surface, and fired another few shots. Misses. Phobos was moving around too quickly and erratically to get a clean hit on, even at close range.

Phobos had the upper hand in maneuverability, and quickly closed the gap between them. He got a swing and his sword connected with Meouch’s non-blaster arm. The blade sliced into his bicep, a sharp burst of blood misted and boiled as soon as it hit the void of space, and Meouch kicked Phobos away to give himself some breathing room. Meouch hissed as the pain shot up his arm and Phobos and his sword tumbled away.

His suit automatically mended itself, all the nano-fibers that made up the material quickly stitching themselves back together, but his arm wasn’t as lucky. The brief brush with the freezing void stung and burned, and Meouch could barely resist the urge to drop his weapon and clamp down on his arm. It burned like fire up into his shoulder and down almost to his fingertips, and he could feel everything tingle with every heartbeat.

“Fuck,” he gasped, holding his blaster tight and stumbling to catch his balance. He fell, tumbling onto his back, kicking up dust and rocks as he connected with the ground. He looked up and saw Phobos stumbling too, the kick having thrown him off-balance and the jetpack making it difficult to find his footing again. This could be his chance.

Meouch got to his feet, planted himself as firmly as he could, and pointed his blaster at Phobos’s chest. He was getting fed up with this shit.

A strange ship popped into existence about twenty feet away, and both their weapons were pulse-blasted clean out of their hands without blowing their arms off. The blaster and sword both flew out of sight. Meouch’s mouth hung open as he stared off into the distance where his blaster disappeared, too stunned to do anything else. He looked around for his gun, only able to process one thing at a goddamn time right now. He couldn’t find it, a small gray object lost among the gray asteroid forever. What he saw instead was a beam of light coming from the unfamiliar ship, pointing right at the ground between him and Phobos, where someone was being beamed down to the surface.

The man was humanoid, short, and wearing a bright yellow and black suit. He had a visor over his eyes, a black metal mask over the bottom half of his face, and a tall orange pylon on the top of his head. His hands were exposed, with only what looked like fingerless gloves protecting them. What, was he immune to the crushing void of space or something?

“Hello gentlemen!” he said with a cheery voice and his hands heroically on his hips. His voice buzzed through Meouch’s helmet, so loud it was almost painful. “My name is Doctor Sung! Now, if I could interrupt your fight for just a moment, I’d love to ask you both--”

Phobos either didn’t notice Sung in his rage, or just didn’t care. The jetpack fired up and he slammed into Meouch again, sending both of them tumbling over each other across the craggy asteroid’s surface. Sung yelled something, but Meouch couldn’t hear it over the sounds of his helmet being slammed into the ground and Phobos’s fists pounding on the glass.

“Son of a--” Meouch grunted, trying and failing to shove Phobos off of him. He could barely tell which way was up, and while his helmet could withstand a lot, he didn’t exactly enjoy getting punched in the head. He brought his knee up, slamming it under Phobos’s ribs, and Phobos reeled back. His jetpack sputtered out, but that didn’t stop either of them from slamming into the ground, fast and hard. Meouch bounced against the rock like a stone skipping across a lake, head rattled around and body bruised. By the time he skidded to a stop, he didn’t know where Phobos was, didn’t know where Sung was or where their ships were, and was barely conscious. All he knew was that everything hurt.

He could faintly hear Sung saying something, the voice crackling through his helmet’s radio, but he couldn’t make it out, due mainly to the ringing in his ears and the fuzzy feeling in his brain. He vaguely recognized that someone was picking him up, his near-weightless body falling away from the floor, but he couldn’t see who it was. His vision was clouding up and getting dark… was that a crack in his helmet? He didn’t remember that being there. Weird. Oh well, the glass could repair minor damage, right?

As the oxygen gushed out of his helmet, that was the last thing Meouch thought before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sabotage by the Beastie Boys.
> 
> Oh man, chapter 1 is finally out into the world. I can't wait to share the rest of this story with you guys! I totally meant to post this yesterday, actually, but life got in the way. Expect updates every Friday! I know that schedule worked well for Act Your Age, so I'm using it again, haha.
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful editor and gf, [theashemarie!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie) She really is amazing at what she does. This fic wouldn't be half as good without her help. I also wanna shout out [doc_boredom,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom) who let me bounce ideas off her til I was blue in the face.
> 
> Let me know what you think so far by leaving a comment! They really do mean a ton, and they make all the work worth it. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your weekend! Stay safe out there!


	2. this ship is taking me far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phobos wakes up aboard Sung's ship... but does Meouch?

Phobos gasped, his four eyes shot open, and his body lurched up from his prone position. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut again as a sharp pain shot through his chest. What happened? Where was he? What was going on? Where was Meouch? What--

“Whoa, hey!” came a voice from next to him, and he felt a hand press into his chest, holding him back. Phobos flipped out, skittering backwards as best as he could, head snapping to the side to see who was there. It was the man who had tried to break up his fight with Meouch. Phobos might have been laser-focused on his mission, but it was impossible to miss that cone. His hand went to his side, looking for his sword, but his scabbard was empty. Right. This guy had blasted his sword away. Phobos glared at him from behind his helmet.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you,” cone man said, taking his hands off of Phobos and holding them up, palms forward. “My name is Doctor Sung. That was a nasty fight you were in, do you feel okay?”

Phobos was hurt, but he didn’t feel like he was dying, so he nodded to brush off the question. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He had a giant web of cracks obscuring his view, as his helmet’s visor was severely damaged. He was in a small, dimly-lit room, the walls lined with posters and maps. He was lying in a cramped bunk, on top of the sheets, and judging by the dark porthole window and the extra cones stacked in one corner, he guessed that this was Sung’s quarters aboard his ship. He must have been knocked unconscious and then brought aboard.

He felt a pounding in his brain, a furious  _ thump thump  _ in his temples, and he had to close his eyes again to push through the wave of dizziness. Maybe he had taken some nasty hits, after all.

Whatever. He was alive, he could move, and he had a job to do. He’d been chasing after Meouch for three weeks nonstop. He wasn’t about to stop now. He  _ couldn’t _ stop now. He was so close.

“Hey, easy,” Sung said, pushing him back when he tried again to get out of bed. “What, do you wanna keep fighting? Is that it? Well, you’re done,” he said. Phobos ignored him and tried to get up again, but Sung pushed him back down effortlessly. “Commander Meouch is dead. You’re done.”

That made Phobos stop. Meouch was… dead? Did he do it? He didn’t remember finishing the job. He just remembered hitting the ground hard after tackling Meouch at full speed. If Phobos had been hit hard enough to get knocked out… Maybe Meouch  _ was _ dead. He was… done? Was his mission really over?

“Here,” Sung said, reaching to grab something on a desk behind him. It was a helmet. Commander Meouch’s helmet. “Proof. You think he could’ve survived a blow like that?” He held out the helmet for Phobos to see. The whole front was caved in. The glass was so cracked, it was a miracle that most of it was still there. The lock system at the bottom had all but broken off. “First impact, this lock mechanism broke and the glass shattered. Second impact, the helmet came off. He’s dead.” Sung lightly tossed the helmet so it landed in Phobos’s hands. “Which is annoying for me personally, since I had something I wanted to discuss with him, but whatever. Shit doesn’t work out sometimes.”

Phobos held the helmet in his hands, running over the deep scratches in the metal with his finger. Commander Meouch was dead. He would never smuggle Funk again, and his people were avenged. He was  _ done.  _ He… he killed him.

Before he could even think about the implications of that, Sung caught his eye again, leaning with his back against the desk and his arms crossed over his glowing chest. “So who are you? What exactly was your beef with him, anyway?”

Phobos opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Meouch was dead. He vowed never to speak again until he had ended Meouch’s life, and he had. He could talk. But… he wasn’t ready. Not yet. His people may have been avenged, but he wasn’t going to break his vow of silence yet. He… he still needed that. Phobos shook his head and brought two fingers up to his throat.

“Can’t talk, huh?” Sung asked, his cone tilting to the side. “That’s okay, I can work with that. Can you write?”

Phobos nodded. Sung dug around on his desk for a few seconds before he found a notebook and pen, and then passed them off to him. Phobos got to writing, quickly jotting down the gist of his story. That Meouch was a smuggler and a pirate, and that the Funk he’d brought to Phobos’s world had caused the collapse of his whole society. That everyone who hadn’t died from the initial blast of Funk had gone mad from it instead. That his whole planet had been more or less reduced to a ghost town, his whole family was gone, and he was now a member of an endangered species.  _ That  _ was why he’d spent the last three weeks, every waking moment, chasing Meouch down to make him pay.

“Oh man... “ Sung muttered. He clicked his tongue as he read. “Lord Phobos… I’m so sorry about your world. That’s… That’s awful. No one should have to go through that,” he said. His voice was soft, a twinge of sadness set in it, and Phobos felt his chest grow tight. “Are you okay?”

Phobos quickly wrote  _ I’m fine _ before he wasn’t fine anymore. He didn’t want to think about it. Not now. No, he was  _ done _ crying about it. Meouch was dead. His job was done. It was time to move on already. Meouch was  _ dead. _

“If you say so,” Sung said, not sounding convinced. “Well, welcome aboard my ship. We’ve got your ship hooked up to ours with a tow line, since you don’t seem like you’re in any shape to fly. We’d be happy to take you anywhere you need to go.”

Phobos blinked.  _ We? _ he wrote.

“Ah, yeah, me and Havve Hogan. He’s my best friend and right-hand man around here. Last I heard, he was running a system’s check after that last warp we did, so it’d probably be wise not to bother him right now,” Sung said with a smile. “In the meantime though, you wanna give me your helmet? I can probably fix it up for ya.”

Phobos shrugged, but he clicked off the lock on his helmet and pulled it off anyway. He could see clearly now with the cracked visor out of his face, but his long blond hair fell down in front of his eyes instead. He tucked it back behind one of his pointed ears. He went to hand the helmet off to Sung, but paused when he saw Sung’s expression, clearly upset even behind his reflective visor.

“Jeez man, you sure you’re okay? You look  _ rough,”  _ he said, and Phobos pursed his lips together. 

_ I’m  _ _ fine, _ Phobos wrote, pen scratching hard against the paper in his lap, but Sung didn’t even look. Instead, he pulled out his phone from his thigh pouch, opened up the camera, and held it up like a mirror to Phobos’s face.

Phobos flinched. Okay, so he looked a little worse for wear, maybe more so than he thought. First and foremost, he had dried blood up along his hairline and crusting his nose. One final memento from Commander Meouch, it seemed. The blood had gummed up his hair, already tangled and unclean, making a giant mess that framed the rest of his face. He had bags under all four of his eyes, his green-and-peach skin was pale, his cheeks and chin were covered in stubble, and his cheekbones were more pronounced than usual. He guessed he’d lost weight. He hadn’t exactly been eating a lot recently, he supposed, but he also didn’t have much of an appetite these days, so there wasn’t much he could do about that.

“Okay, so I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re not doing okay,” Sung said, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “I’m not judging man, I’ve been there too, but… When’s the last time you’ve eaten? Like, a full meal?”

Phobos shrugged. He’d had a couple bites of a nutrient bar when he woke up, and he’d had a couple of snacks the day before. Nothing he could probably qualify as a  _ meal,  _ though. Sung looked… just heartbroken. “All right, well… the least I can do is get you patched up. We can talk about actual self-care later, but first we gotta get that blood off your face and make sure you haven’t been busted up too bad. Can you stand?”

Phobos tried. Something ached fiercely in the middle of his torso as he twisted to swing his legs over the edge of the bed (probably from the kicks he had taken to the chest. Probably just a bruised rib, but he hoped it wasn’t anything more serious), and moving his right leg at all caused pain to shoot through his thigh. He inhaled sharply and brought his hand down on it, his palm finding the slightly thinner, repaired section of his suit. Right. He’d been shot. His thigh muscles were on fire, but at least it didn’t feel like it burnt down to the bone. He pushed through as best as he could, and he slid off the bed and onto the floor. He set his foot down gingerly, and he had to keep most of his weight on his other side, but he was standing.

Sung sighed. “Good enough. Come on, let’s get you fixed up, and then we can get working on your helmet. C’mon.” He led Phobos out of the room, staying close so Phobos would have something to cling to if he couldn’t walk anymore.

Phobos spared one last glance at Meouch’s battered and broken helmet laying on the cluttered desk before he followed Sung out. He felt like he could trust Sung, since the guy seemed sincerely concerned about him, but… he still had a really, really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Starlight by Muse.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the positive response to the first chapter! I'm so excited to share this story with all of you! A lot of you praised the quality of the writing, and for that I have my gf and editor, [theashemarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie) to thank! Not only has she been editing this story to smooth over all of the bumps, but she's also been inspiring me for the past three years to up my writing game. Love ya babe!!
> 
> Poor Phobos is in rough shape! Not as rough as Meouch though, at least according to Sung. And I don't know about you guys, but my parents taught me to never trust strangers who wear cones on their heads. Something smells fishy...
> 
> See you next week! ;) If you enjoyed, please leave a comment! I may not respond (I'm trying not to artificially inflate my comment numbers, but I'll reply if you ask a good question), but I read every single one! Love you guys!


	3. release myself from consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch wakes up, definitely not dead. Oops. Spoilers.

Meouch woke up slowly, coming to consciousness like a computer rebooting one system at a time. He ached everywhere. He felt like a nail was being driven into his temples, his arm was burning and throbbing like crazy, and his mouth was bone-dry.

His first thought was that he needed a smoke and a drink. His second thought, some foggy combination of  _ where happened  _ and  _ what am I,  _ made him open his eyes and try to get up. He was lying down in a ship, in the bridge if the huge viewports were anything to go by. There was something cold and heavy on his forehead, and it slid onto his chest when he tried and failed to sit up. He looked at it, turning it over with one hand, and it looked like a half-frozen bag of pizza rolls. “What the fuck?” he said, his speech garbled through uncooperative lips and his even more sandpapery-than-usual tongue.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he heard someone (or some _ thing _ ?) say from the pilot’s seat at the front of the bridge. An android got out of the chair and tromped over to where Meouch was lying down. The android’s long, skinny limbs moved nonchalantly, but his piercing red glare made Meouch nervous.

“The fuck are you?” Meouch asked groggily, forcing his cotton-mouth to cooperate. He was in some sort of makeshift bed made from an old crew seat, he realized. “The fuck with the… pizza rolls?”

The robot shrugged, his spiky white shoulder pauldrons barely moving. They must’ve been heavy. “I didn’t have an ice pack on hand, so sue me,” he said. His voice was deep and purely robotic, coming through a speaker behind his white metal faceplate, but he enunciated and emphasized certain words like a living person would. “You all right? You look like you got your shit rocked out there.”

Meouch blinked. Yeah, either this bot had some funky programming, or it wasn’t just a bot. “You a cyborg?” he asked.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Meouch groaned and closed his eyes. “I feel like ass. My head hurts. My arm hurts. And your bedside manner really ain’t helpin’ things.”

The cyborg didn’t have an emotive face, but the way he squared his shoulders and leaned back made him look like he took offense to that comment. “I  _ put _ the pizza rolls on you.” He scoffed, a burst of air and speaker static erupting from behind the mask. He put his hands on his hips--real hands, Meouch noted--and rolled his bright red optics. “Unbelievable. This is the thanks I get. Sung fucking owes me for this.”

“Huh,” was really all Meouch could muster up in response. It wasn’t very often he saw a cyborg like this. At least, not one that seemed more robotic than organic, anyway. Heavy modifications like that were harder and harder to get these days, since it was harder to find roboticists who were willing to play god and mess with a person that much. Either this guy had gotten absolutely torn to shreds by something, or he was old as shit. “Who are you? The hell’s goin’ on?” Meouch asked. He meant for it to come out as an angry growl, but it came out more like a tired grunt. “And could I get some water?”

“Name’s Havve Hogan,” the cyborg responded, “and I would appreciate a thank you for my  _ excellent  _ bedside manner.” He stared at Meouch expectantly, hands still on his hips, his red optics unblinking.

Meouch sighed. “Thank you, Hogan, for the fucking frozen pizza rolls you dumped on my head.”

Despite the sarcasm, Havve seemed satisfied. “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding proud of himself. He reached behind one of the crew seats at the central control panel and pulled out a bottle of water. “You were in a fight. Got your ass beat. Cracked your helmet open and passed out.” He handed the bottle to Meouch, and then helped him sit up. “You’re lucky we were able to get you aboard before you suffocated.”

“Yeah, it  _ feels  _ like I cracked my helmet open,” Meough groaned, holding his head with his good hand and the bottle with the other, the arm that had been sliced by Phobos’s sword. The cut hadn’t been too bad, it seemed. Lord Phobos swung his sword around like a lunatic and tackled him with the jetpack at full throttle, he remembered now. The asshole rich boy slamming into him and almost immediately losing control of the jetpack, sending them both tumbling at fucking mach one across the surface of an asteroid. What a boneheaded move that was. “The hell happened to Phobos, anyway?”

“Oh, the other guy?” Havve asked. “He didn’t make it. He slammed into the ground way too hard. Apparently going all gung-ho with his jetpack wasn’t a great idea.” He reached behind a different crew seat this time and pulled out Phobos’s jetpack by the straps. It was still partly smoldering, and the exhaust ports had melted and contorted into a black and gold monstrosity. He tossed it to Meouch, who, between the headache and the bottle of water in his hand, failed to catch it. It thudded lamely into his lap, lighter than it looked, and the acrid smell of melted electronics hit Meouch’s nose at full force.

“Eesh,” Meouch coughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want this hunk of shit on my back,” he said, quickly pushing it away and letting it  _ clunk _ onto the floor. He didn’t trust it to not explode on him. “So… Phobos is dead?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, thank  _ god,”  _ Meouch sighed. He put the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, taking a long drink. Finally. That jerk had been following him around for three weeks and change, trying to kill him for something he practically had no hand in whatsoever. Maybe now he could actually get some rest. He hadn’t gotten a single good night’s sleep since before he took that last smuggling job.

“So what were you fighting about, anyway?” Havve asked. He took the jetpack back and set it aside, where it could smolder in peace.

Meouch polished off half of the water bottle, and then recapped it and sighed. “He blamed me for causing the fuckin’ apocalypse, even though I barely had anything to do with it.”

“Barely, huh?” Havve asked. “How does one barely cause an apocalypse?”

“I was just doin’ my job. Smuggling Funk into square-ass systems,” Meouch grunted. “I got to Phobos’s planet, made my delivery, got the fuck out, and  _ somehow _ it was all my fault that his planet went up in flames. Funk can’t do that, so like, what the hell, right?”

“Hm,” Havve said. “Not even to susceptible populations?”

“I smuggle Funk to the Funk-less for a living. I think I fuckin’ know what my shit does,” Meouch huffed. “I mean, like--”

“One sec,” Havve interrupted him. He leaned in close and shined his red optics right into Meouch’s eyes. “Forgot to make sure you weren’t concussed. Continue.”

“Uh,” Meouch blinked, leaning away from Havve. “I think I would know if I was concussed. But like, yeah, Funk can kill you, just like anything else can,” he said, resuming his explanation. Havve continued checking his eyes for his pupil dilation. “Fuckin’ water can kill you if you act like a fuckin’ idiot around it. But last I checked, Funk can’t wipe out an entire planet’s population. Asshole was just trying to take it out on me instead of whatever  _ actually  _ caused it. And can you  _ stop _ trying to blind me? Fuck, man.”

“Your pupil dilation is normal, and you seem coherent enough,” Havve said, earning him an eyeroll from Meouch. “Though your hands have been shaking this whole time. Are you sure you’re okay?”

That made Meouch stop. Ignoring the burning ache in his arm, he balled his hands into fists without looking at them in an attempt to stop the shaking that he knew was there, and his water bottle crunched between his fingers. His damn hands had been shaking for weeks. He’d been hoping that Havve wouldn’t notice. “I dunno, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I nearly suffocated in space?” he said, even though he knew it wasn’t the case. It sounded plausible, at least.

“Hm. I suppose it could,” Havve said, taking Meouch’s free hand in his own. “I suppose that also explains why your hands are so cold and clammy. And the bags under your eyes. And why your eyes are so bloodshot--”

“I haven’t exactly been sleepin’ so hot with Murder Prince McDouchebag hot on my tail recently,” Meouch growled, smacking Havve’s hand away. “Mind your own damn business, why don’tcha? Damn.” Another partial lie, but only barely. He’d had a shit three weeks, that was for sure.

“I’m just trying to help,” Havve said. He crossed his arms over his chest, shoulder and elbow joints softly whirring as he moved. “I just want to make sure you’re not sick and dying, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Meouch mumbled. A second later, he clicked his tongue and looked up at Havve. “How come?” he asked, and Havve tilted his head. “What possessed you and the cone guy to show up here and break up that fight in the first place? You  _ are _ with cone guy, right?”

“Ah,” Havve nodded. “Yeah. Sung and I had a proposition for you, actually. I can go get him. I think he’s in his quarters--”

Havve was cut off by a shrill alarm and flashing red lights that filled the bridge. The words “PROXIMITY ALERT” shone big and bright across the ship’s windshield. The loud sound nearly gave Meouch a heart attack and made him drop the water onto the floor, while Havve seamlessly sprung into action and leapt into the pilot’s seat.

“Shit, what the hell?!” Meouch yelped, gripping the armrests of his chair so tight that his fingernails dug into the leather.

“Asteroid incoming,” Havve said, pressing buttons on the control console. He flipped some switches above his head and revved up the ship’s engines. “Hang on, this is going to get rough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Modern Day Cain by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.
> 
> Wait, but I thought Sung said that Meouch was dead! And now Havve's saying that Phobos is dead! Does this mean they... LIED?? Dun dun duuunnnnn. You really think people would do that? Just go on a spaceship and tell lies?? And what's up with this proximity alert? Are Sung and Havve going to be able to keep Meouch and Phobos apart when they're all on the same ship?
> 
> Thanks again to [theashemarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie) for helping me edit this so last minute! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and I'll see you guys next week!


	4. lie, lie to my face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a small ship, and Phobos and Meouch are bound to run into each other sooner or later...

Phobos was in the lab below decks with Sung, nibbling on a slice of toast while the doctor was busy removing the cracked visor from his helmet. Sung had brought him the toast a few minutes ago, tutting that he needed to at least eat  _ something.  _ Phobos didn’t want it. He hadn’t eaten since the few bites of flavorless ration bar he’d had that morning (Or rather, since he’d woken up. There was no morning in space.), and while he knew that he  _ should  _ eat, he just didn’t have the appetite. Just the idea of having food in his mouth and then chewing and swallowing was… unappealing. But he was on Sung’s ship, and he was in no position to argue or refuse help. So he nibbled, forcing the toast down and hoping it wouldn’t come back up.

In addition to providing him with toast, Sung had cleaned the blood off Phobos’s forehead and nose with a quick stop in the bathroom, and he gave him a few painkillers to help with the various injuries. They were just starting to kick in, and Phobos was already starting to feel less achy. 

Sung hummed to himself as he worked, which Phobos found comforting, at least. He wasn’t used to that. His homeworld was--as Meouch had eloquently put it during one of their few encounters--square. For the longest time, he didn’t know anyone else who enjoyed music, so it was nice to hear humming from someone other than himself for a change. During his three week long panicked flight through the cosmos, he hadn’t had the chance to really get out of his own head until now. Sung was a refreshing change of pace.

The doctor asked a few questions about the helmet and matching armor, which Phobos answered with his pen and paper. It was nice how routine this all was, and how it had nothing to do with his emotions or his planet. He really didn’t think he could handle that stuff right now.

Phobos had asked some questions too, but Sung seemed incapable of giving straight answers. He asked where Sung was from, and what he and Havve Hogan wanted with Meouch. Sung replied with, “Somewhere that doesn’t exist anymore,” and “We have a use for his particular skill set, but it seems like we’re back to the drawing board on that one,” respectively. Neither was a particularly good answer, and just served to make Phobos more suspicious by the minute. Sung was a nice enough guy, but what was his deal?

Sung had just finished taking measurements for a new visor when a loud alarm started to shriek, and flashing red lights lit up the room. Phobos slammed his hands over his ears in surprise, but Sung didn’t even look up from his work.

“That thing goes off all the time,” he said. He didn’t even sound annoyed. “Havve probably forgot to turn off the parking brake again. No big deal.”

But then the ship rumbled, grumbled, and lurched, sending Phobos to his hands and knees and causing a fountain of curse words to spring forth from Sung’s mouth.

“Havve, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Sung yelled into an intercom system by his workbench. The ship wouldn’t stop shaking. Phobos, thoroughly freaked out, looked all around the room, identifying potential pieces of bulky machinery that could come crashing down on top of them. Unfortunately, the whole room--engine room, workshop, lab, whatever kind of mish mash it was--seemed to be exclusively filled with bulky machinery, heavy glass, and sharp crystals loosely connected to flimsy terminals. The place was a death trap.

A robotic voice came through the intercom, crackling with static. “We’ve got an asteroid incoming. Not sure why takeoff is so shaky. Hold on back there.”

Fantastic. Because Phobos hadn’t had enough brushes with death that day. He gripped Sung’s bolted-down work table, trying to get back on his feet as the floor underneath him shook. The metal of the ship creaked with strain, and nothing felt stable. He could very acutely feel the toast in his stomach, and he did not like it.

The clattering of the ship, the wailing of the sirens, and Sung scrambling around and grabbing things were all giving him a headache. He pressed a hand to his temples in an attempt to massage the pain away. Things lurched again, and Phobos leaned his whole torso over the table to keep himself up on his feet. His head throbbed, and his injured thigh ached from trying to keep himself steady.

Over the blaring alarm, over the loud crashing sounds, over the overwhelming whooshing of blood flowing through his brain and in his ears, he heard a voice. It came from the top of the stairs, calling back to the bridge. “I dunno! I’m gonna go check!” He knew that voice. A pair of boots descended down the steps. He knew those boots. The blood rushing in his ears got louder. Son of a  _ bitch. _

Meouch got halfway down the stairs before he noticed Phobos, white eyes locked on him. The commander looked just as surprised to see Phobos as Phobos was to see him. “Mother _ fucker,” _ he spat, reaching for a blaster in his holster that wasn’t there. He growled when he realized he was unarmed. “You’re still alive? What the fuck!” He leapt down the rest of the stairs, boots slamming down on the metal floor. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Oh shit,” Sung said from the other side of the room, where he was busy trying to keep fragile doodads from falling over. “Uh… Whoops. We lied?”

Meouch screamed and lunged, rushing towards Phobos with his fists raised. Phobos grabbed his broken helmet off the work table, flung it towards Meouch, and ducked around his incoming punch in one motion. He hissed and dropped to one knee as the blaster wound in his thigh burned with the movement, sending a wash of pain up to his hip and down to his foot.

The helmet caught Meouch in the chin, and he stumbled back. Phobos pushed himself back up to his feet, gritting his teeth through the pain. He followed up the helmet throw with a punch of his own, nailing Meouch in the cheek and sending him slamming into a shelf, knocking several things over onto the floor.

“Aw, come on!” Sung yelled from the other side of the room. “Please don’t kill each other!  _ You guys were so calm before!”  _ His voice was shrill and panicky, amplified only by the shaking of the ship all around them.

Meouch pulled his leg up and kicked, nailing Phobos in the chest and pushing him back across the room. Phobos stumbled, seeing stars in the corners of his vision. His bruised rib burned something fierce, seizing up his whole torso. Meouch reached his hand back and grabbed something off of the shelf behind him, some random workshop tool that looked weighty and dangerous, and flung it. It missed Phobos by a hair, whizzing across the lab and smashing into some important-sounding machinery.

“Oh fuck!!” Sung shouted over the chaos. A new, different alarm was ringing now. “Y’know, I was really hoping we could work through our differences in a calm, nonviolent manner!”

Phobos flinched to the side, momentarily stunned by the flying lab equipment, and, when he looked back, Meouch’s fist was rushing right towards his head. He tried to duck again, but was clipped in the chin before he could move. Another fist came at him, but Phobos grabbed this one, swung around with the momentum, and pushed so that he was able to get behind Meouch. Phobos cracked him in the back with his elbow, went for a kidney punch, and missed. Meouch snaked around the punch and was starting to regain his footing.

Phobos wasn’t about to let him go on the offensive again. He tackled Meouch, ramming his shoulder into his side, and they both crashed through a huge tube of glass. Shards flew everywhere, electricity crackled, and Phobos barely had time to notice the giant, glowing crystal in the middle of the cylinder before they hit it.

Once again, Sung was yelling something at him, but he couldn’t hear it. He and Meouch collided with the crystal, and everything suddenly went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 3's & 7's by Queens Of The Stoneage.
> 
> You all knew this was coming! Well, maybe not that ending... Where'd they go? What the heck were Havve and Sung thinking?!
> 
> Thanks once again to my editor Ashe for getting this chapter all nice and spiffy on such short notice. Love ya!
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment! Thanks so much for reading, everybody! See you all next Friday, have a great weekend :)


	5. ice crystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting tackled into a large, mysterious crystal in the engine room of Sung and Havve's ship, Meouch finds himself on a new, shitty planet in the middle of nowhere. But at the very least, Phobos isn't around... right?

When Meouch hit the ground, it wasn’t the cold metal floor of a spaceship that met his cheek. It was snow.

He scrambled to his feet, sinking ankle-deep in the snow, and looked around. He was in the middle of a coniferous forest, in the middle of the day, with nothing around but trees and snow. The sky was gray, with one sun and a smattering of moons shining through the clouds. Snow fell gently and lazily in the lack of wind. There was no sign of the ship or Lord Phobos anywhere.

“What,” he muttered, his voice unable to break the snowy quiet if he tried, “the absolute fuck.”

He spun around on his heels, unable to comprehend the landscape around him. What the hell happened? Where was he? Where was the ship? How did he get here? Where the hell was Phobos, that little bastard?

He growled with sharp teeth bared. Fists clenched, and shoulders tensed up, he slammed one foot to the ground, crunching the snow underfoot. “Phobos, you piece of shit son of a bitch!!” Meouch yelled to the sky. His voice didn’t echo, swallowed and dampened by the snow, but he kept yelling anyway. “You motherfucker! I don’t know where I am or what you did, but you’re a dead son of a bitch! You… motherfucking shit fuck!! God!”

He cursed more as he kicked the snow, kicked the ground, and kicked a nearby tree. Once he had called Phobos every possible combination of curse words he could think of, he gave one final kick to the trunk of the nearest tree and huffed, exhausted and pissed. The hot air crystalized in front of his face and blew back into his nose, warming it the tiniest bit.

Of course Phobos was still alive after their brawl on the asteroid. There was no way Meouch could’ve been lucky enough to have all his troubles solved by a jetpack gone haywire. No, Meouch never got that lucky. Now he was going to have a would-be murderer chasing after him again. Hopefully, Phobos got blasted someplace far, far away from wherever Meouch was now. If he never saw him again, it’d be too soon.

For that matter, where the hell was he? Phobos slammed him into that weird glowing rock down in the engine room, and then… He blinked and he was here, in the middle of nowhere. What was that thing? What kind of spaceship has a giant glowing crystal near the engines that can teleport people at random?

Meouch could already feel the cold seeping in through his suit, and his exposed fingers, nose, and ears were starting to sting. He shook his head, trying to get the light dusting of snow out of his mane. Great. Just great. He hated the cold. Why did it have to be cold? He shoved his hands into his vest pockets, trying to get them out of the winter air. Inside the pockets, he could feel his lighter, his box of cigarettes (half-full), and a communicator. His only supplies.

He pulled the communicator out of his pocket and inspected it. Its battery was only half-full, but the charge would last a pretty long while. The date and time must have glitched out when he teleported, since it was all out of whack. He had no signal, and even when he diverted all of the power towards finding a frequency to communicate with, he couldn’t pick anything up. He clicked his tongue and snarled with his upper lip. The hunk of junk would need a shitload of power and amplification if it was going to find anything, he could tell. He must be stuck out in some vacant part of the galaxy. Fan-fucking-tastic. If this planet had any intelligent life on it, they probably hadn’t figured out space travel yet if the skies were still that empty. How the hell was he going to get out of here?

He turned the communicator off and stowed it away in an inside pocket of his vest. There was no use in burning out the battery, especially if he could potentially use it later. It wasn’t like anyone was going to be calling him anytime soon, anyway.

Okay, the first thing he had to do was get himself out of the snow. He could worry about getting off-planet later. He crammed his fists into his pockets and shuffled his feet, kicking warmth back into his toes. His suit could withstand the harshness of space, but his fingerless gloves and lack of helmet meant he was still feeling the cold. He needed to get moving and find some shelter before he got frostbite.

Meouch started walking, heading towards what looked like a denser part of the forest. The tall trees did a decent enough job of keeping snow off of him and breaking up the wind. The forest was dark, the exteriors of the trees almost black, and each branch was coated with snow. Everything was eerily quiet except for Meouch’s feet crunching through the frost and the wind whistling through the branches. If he weren’t stranded there, he might’ve actually found it peaceful.

Grumbling under his breath as he walked, he cursed Phobos and his shitty luck for getting him stuck here. He cursed Phobos’s society for having the nerve to completely collapse  _ coincidentally _ right as he was done smuggling in that Funk. Well… Okay, he mentally scolded himself for cursing a recently-dead civilization. That wasn’t cool of him. It wasn’t  _ their _ fault they had all died so suddenly. It definitely wasn’t  _ his _ fault, but it wasn’t theirs, either. Fuck, he wanted a cigarette. Well, he really wanted Funk, but he was going to have a cigarette. He was trying to quit Funk. Also completely coincidentally.

Meouch pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and removed one with unsteady fingers. These were his only smokes, and they were going to have to last. Just how long, he didn’t know. He would have to cut back, though, that was for sure. He cursed again. Of all the places he could get stranded, he had to get stuck in the middle of a forest without a drug store to be seen.

Clicking a lighter and bringing the cigarette up to his mouth, he tried to focus on the situation at hand and not think about Funk or how much he missed it. How much his body craved the sound, whole albums compressed into less than a second of audio. The rush, the absolute high of hearing and processing that much sound in the time it took to blink. He tried not to think about the harm it could do to people who weren’t used to that kind of thing, and did too much at once. He tried not to think about how there was no way a single dose of Funk could kill that many people. No way.

He didn’t think about any of that. Nope. Not at all.

The cigarette halfway done, he flicked the ashes into the snow and sighed. He put out the cigarette on a nearby tree, the bark damp enough that it smothered the light out easily, and tucked it back into its pack. These needed to last.

He trudged through the forest, the gentle snowfall sticking to the fur on his face, the warm taste of the cigarette still in his mouth. He hated this. It would be just his fucking luck to get teleported to the middle of nowhere, wouldn’t it? He was still tired and aching from his  _ first _ fight with Phobos, let alone the second, and now he was stranded in the freezing cold with nothing but a lighter to help him. All because of Lord fucking Phobos.

He growled and kicked his feet as he aimlessly walked, sending snow flying everywhere. God, if he ever saw that guy again… He was just going to kill him and get it over with. Let him die like the rest of his people did. Good riddance.

He closed his eyes and quickly shook the thought from his mind. Those were  _ innocent people _ who were dead. They hadn’t done anything to deserve what happened to them. Meouch was just pissed, that was all. Just because Phobos was convinced that Meouch was the bad guy didn’t mean he had to act like it.

He wasn’t the bad guy, was he?

Meouch had been walking for a while, taking a high route on a hill above a steep gully, and it was starting to get dark. Even though he was able to see above some of the trees in the ravine, he couldn’t make out much in the distance aside from more forest. His feet had gone numb with cold, thanks to the wet seeping through his old, battle-worn boots, and his hands were well on their way to joining them. He could barely feel when his feet touched the ground. There was no thought put into where he stepped as he just galumphed mindlessly through the snow. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for anymore.

One step after another, and then another, and then another, and the snow went up to his knee instead of just his ankle without warning. A hole, he’d realized, as he was already going down, tumbling sideways over the hill, sliding down the slope end over end. He landed at the bottom of the ravine in a pile of snow and his own limbs, luckily with only a few scrapes and bruises. “Fuck me,” he grumbled.

He pushed himself up onto his knees and brushed some of the snow off his chest and shoulders. Damn snow, hiding big holes like that and getting stuck in his hair. He shook his head to knock some of the snow out of his mane. God, what else could happen to ruin his day?

Meouch opened his eyes, looked up, and saw Phobos, standing five feet away, staring right at him.

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Ice Crystal by Lord Phobos.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! We finally got to the part where the story title actually means something! If you're enjoying the story so far and excited for what comes next, leave a comment! Each and every one brightens up my day, and I read them all, even if I don't always reply. Have a great week everyone!
> 
> As always, thanks to my brilliant editor [theashemarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie) for helping me make this chapter the best it can be!


	6. we don't belong here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phobos encounters a wild Meouch. Neither of them are particularly happy about it.

Phobos saw Meouch coming at him in a blur down a hill, and immediately froze. Fuck fuck fuck. He didn’t have his sword. He was hurt. He was slow and weak from the cold. Meouch was bigger than him. He was screwed.

When Meouch landed in a heap and started cursing out the snow, Phobos realized that he hadn’t been seen. Maybe he could attack first. Maybe he could run. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, petrified, until Meouch looked up and saw him.

“Shit!!” Meouch yelped, skittering back on his hands. His legs, cold and uncoordinated, clumsily followed suit behind him. Phobos took a limping step back, surprised by the outburst, and squeezed his eyes shut. Both waited for the other to strike first.

When nothing happened, Phobos cracked open two of his four eyes.

“Wait,” Meouch said, breaking the tense silence. Phobos realized that he looked frightened, too. “You’re not tryin’ to kill me?”

Phobos opened the rest of his eyes. Like he’d just been given permission to move again, he moved his hand to the empty scabbard on his hip. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, trying to escape out through his throat. His first two encounters with Meouch that day had resulted in injuries on both sides, but no death. Third time’s the charm, right?

Meouch got up slowly, partially because he was still injured from their earlier fights and partially because he didn’t seem to want to provoke any sort of attack, even though Phobos was unarmed. Being unarmed didn’t stop them from fighting in Sung’s ship. He growled.

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” Meouch said, angry and tired. “I oughta kill you. You fucked up my ship. You stabbed me in the arm with a fuckin’ sword. And now you get us stuck out here, with nothing and no one around. Just the two of us stuck on this freezing rock of a planet in the middle of nowhere-space with no way off.”

Phobos’s eyes shot open wide. Did Meouch just say that this was all  _ his _ fault? He stomped up to him, glaring daggers right up into his face, and pointed a finger right into Meouch’s chest. This mess was  _ his _ fault.

“Ex _ cuse  _ me?” Meouch snarled. “You were the one who tackled me into that… whatever it was that sent us here!” His voice was the loudest thing Phobos had heard in hours, and his breath was hot in his face. He smelled of cigarettes and lingering alcohol, making Phobos’s nose scrunch up in disgust.

Phobos pushed his ice-cold finger into Meouch’s chest again, harder this time. Meouch had started the fight. Meouch had caused the destruction of his society. Meouch had started  _ all _ of this. Phobos pushed him, slamming both hands hard into his shoulders. His cold, aching arms couldn’t push very hard, but Meouch’s cold, aching legs didn’t keep him very steady. He stumbled back a bit and growled.

Meouch lunged. He rammed his shoulder into Phobos’s chest, where the brunt of the hit was thankfully absorbed by the gold-plated armor. Meouch’s fist followed, slamming into Phobos’s stomach. Phobos pushed him away. He bent over, a hand on his knee, the other hand out to keep Meouch back. The punch, as cold and limp as it had been, had twisted up his insides, already topsy-turvy from teleportation and everything else that day, and--

Phobos puked. There wasn’t much, considering all he’d eaten recently was a bit of toast, but still. It steamed against the cold snow, and the aftertaste left Phobos spitting and coughing.

“Ah, shit, gross,” Meouch said, taking a step back. “Are you…? Ah, fuck.” The anger had faded from his voice, and he just sounded tired now. Well, that was one way to stick a pin in a fight.

Phobos wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He kicked some snow over the mess he’d made, and nearly lost his balance while doing so. He looked at Meouch’s feet, keeping him in sight while avoiding eye contact. Could this day get any worse? Was there anything worse than throwing up in front of a guy you’ve sworn to kill? He sniffled. Ugh, the taste was in his nose, burning and acidic. Nasty.

Meouch sighed. “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough that Phobos heard him. “I can’t do this.”

Phobos shot him a confused look. What did  _ that _ mean?

“Look. You’re not in any sort of fightin’ shape,” Meouch grumbled. “As much as I’d  _ love  _ to get you out of my hair for good? I… I can’t fight a sick guy. That’s fucked up.”

Phobos glared. As if fighting now would be the most fucked up thing Meouch had ever done to him. Why the hell did he suddenly have a conscience  _ now?  _ Why shouldn’t they keep fighting?

Phobos’s stomach soured again as he thought about it. Fighting to the death with swords and blasters was one thing. But with bare fists…? He shuddered, and not from the cold. Even if he stood a chance of winning that fight, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He nodded.

“All right,” Meouch said with a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. “So… I won’t kill you if you don’t kill me? And vice versa? At least until we get out of this place.”

Phobos didn’t exactly like it, but he had to face facts. He couldn’t kill Meouch in this condition, and he didn’t want to die. His self-preservation instinct had to kick in at some point, he supposed. He’d mostly been ignoring it for the past three weeks.

He nodded in answer.

“Okay. Do you know where the hell we even are? Or what that fuckin’ crystal thing was that sent us here?”

He shook his head.

“Any ideas for how to get out of here?”

Another shake.

"Found any shelter out of the damn cold?"

Nope.

“Okay then, we’re done here,” Meouch said. He tucked his hands inside his vest pockets and kicked off the snow that was stuck to his boots. “I don’t wanna be around you and I’m sure you don’t wanna be around me! So goodbye, Lord Dickwad! May we not meet again anytime soon.” He picked a direction seemingly at random and started walking, quickly trudging through the snow. Phobos did nothing; he just watched him as he disappeared back into the forest, the threat disappearing almost as suddenly as it had appeared.

With Meouch finally gone, Phobos coughed, loud and hard, and grabbed onto a nearby tree for balance. He could still feel the bile burning his throat, and the cold air was making his lungs ache. His organs felt like they were all in the wrong places. His heart was in his gut and his stomach was up in his chest. He felt like his bones were going to melt into a puddle.

Commander Meouch had appeared out of nowhere. He could’ve killed him. But he didn’t. They could’ve killed each other. But they didn’t. He decided it wasn’t worth it and walked away.

_ Phobos could’ve died, again, for like, the third time that day. _

That was too much. He slid to the ground, sitting in the snow, and stared blankly at the spot where Meouch had walked away. His footprints were still there. Phobos could follow him, keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t try anything. He could take him out when he least expected it, get the revenge that he had been denied by Sung--

No. No, god, no. What was he going to do? Kill a man with a rock in his sleep? No! It was one thing when Meouch was just a name, just an irredeemable piece of shit who ended his civilization, but… Seeing his face and hearing his voice, not distorted through a helmet… He was a  _ person.  _ A garbage person who didn’t deserve to live, sure, but still a person. A person who spared his life, who looked like he felt  _ sorry _ for him, at least in the moment. Phobos suddenly wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep at night with murder hanging over his head. He might’ve had it in him to blast down Meouch’s ship from afar, but there was no way he was going to sneak up on someone, asleep, and bash their brains in.

No.

Hell, what was he going to  _ do? _

He had to get off of this planet. If he could get back to civilization and get his hands on a weapon, he could finish what he started. He could finally avenge his people, end his vow of silence, and start living the rest of his life. He could be  _ done _ with this. 

What he actually had to do was get out of the snow, for starters. The sun was setting quickly behind the trees, and it was already getting colder. He needed a place to rest. His ribs were crying out in pain, and he suspected that more than one was bruised at this point. His thigh still hurt, even through the numbing cold. He slowly, slowly, pushed himself up and brushed himself off, getting rid of the snow that was clinging stubbornly to his armor and his long hair. He could have a moral crisis later. He needed to find some sort of shelter.

Of course, hours of walking through this forest had uncovered nothing. No place to stay, no water, no food. He sure as hell wasn’t going to find any of that in the dark. Was he going to have to make a shelter himself? Hell, he was a philosophical rocketeer and a member of the nobility, not a freakin’ survivalist. He didn’t know the first thing about building shelters, or starting fires, or… anything. He dealt in equations, not tangible engineering. But it was either that, or sit out here in the snow all night.

Phobos sighed. He pushed aside all thoughts of Meouch, of how cold he was, of how he wasn’t hungry when he was aboard Sung's ship but he sure was hungry now, and he focused on the task at hand. All he had to do was find a nice spot, grab some tree branches, slap together a lean-to and get a fire going. He could do this. He was Lord Fucking Phobos. He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Explorers by Muse.
> 
> Well, they didn't kill each other! That's a step in the right direction, right? Right??
> 
> Thanks to my editor Ashe for helping this fic along and making it the best it can be! If you're enjoying this story, leave a comment! I read every single one and they make my day, every time. I hope you all have a nice weekend!


	7. stuttering, cold and damp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch got a campfire going to protect him from the cold, but the fire draws some unwanted attention...

Meouch had managed to scrape together a little campsite for himself before the sun disappeared completely over the horizon. He wasn’t exactly much of an outdoorsman, but he had spent enough time on the streets as a kid to know how to get by. He found a tree that was big enough to block the falling snow, and he cleared away the snow underneath it. He built as big of a fire as he could, close enough to the tree that it wouldn’t get snowed on but far enough away that it wouldn’t ignite everything. Meouch doubted that would happen anyway, since everything was so wet. Even with his lighter to get a flame going, finding wood that was dry enough to catch used up most of his remaining daylight.

Once he had a fire going, he spent the next ten minutes just warming himself by it. With the sunlight fading, the temperature dropped like a stone, and he needed to get some feeling back into his fingers and toes. He didn’t let himself get too comfortable, though. He still had work to do.

He gathered pine boughs from the dryest sides of the surrounding trees and laid them in the area he’d cleared away. Sleeping on the ground was a surefire way to freeze, so he kept laying down boughs until he had a bed of them that was a few inches thick.

Meouch sighed, the air puffing up in his face as the cold clawed at his throat. He’d had ideas of making a shelter to protect himself from the wind, weaving pine boughs to form a blanket, and finding something to eat, but it looked like none of that was in the cards for him tonight. It had grown pitch dark, and even with his twilight-adapted eyes, he couldn’t see much beyond the circle of trees he’d claimed for himself. There wasn’t much more he could do tonight besides try and keep warm. Besides, he hadn’t seen any signs of wildlife all day. No tracks in the snow, no disturbed plants, no shuffling in the branches above. For whatever reason, there didn’t seem to be anything else living in this forest.

Well, except for Phobos. Meouch’s upper lip twitched, a sharp canine shining in the light of the fire. Phobos… Hell, what was he going to do about that guy? He’d meant what he said earlier: he wasn’t exactly up for killing anyone with his bare hands. He wasn’t a monster. Neither was Phobos, he supposed. Not really. He was just a person who lost everything. Of course, it was still totally unfair for him to be targeting Meouch like he was, and Meouch still hated him for it. But something about how he looked and acted earlier… He had been cold, scared, and hurt. He clearly wasn’t doing too hot if one punch to the gut had been enough to make him puke.

Whatever. Meouch grunted as he slowly, shakily lowered another piece of wood onto the fire. They had a truce. No killing each other until they got out of this dump. Phobos had no reason to bother him until then, so, as far as Meouch was concerned, he had no reason to think about Phobos. He was going to focus on surviving until he found a way off this planet, and nothing else.

It had been dark for a while now. Meouch had gotten feeling back in his hands and feet, and while his thighs and butt were still numb, he felt a little better. Without the rhythm of walking or the work of building a campsite distracting him, he finally realized that he was hungry, and had been for a while. He brushed the light snow out of his mane as he tried to ignore the emptiness in the pit of his gut.

He should go to bed. It was the tried and true street urchin’s method of staving off hunger: sleep through it. It wasn’t healthy, but he wasn’t exactly feeling health conscious at the moment. He lit another cigarette.

Yeah, he should sleep, but he couldn’t get his mind to settle down. He kept hearing things: shuffling in the snow, the creak of branches, the whispers of the wind. Most of it could be blamed on the storm. He kept thinking the rest of the sounds had to belong to some wildlife, until he remembered that there wasn’t any here. Maybe it was something nocturnal. Maybe he was starting to lose it. He exhaled, smoke streaming out of his mouth and mingling with the campfire.

He saw a shape move between the trees, and he got up with a start. He didn’t imagine that, did he? “Hey!” he yelled, suddenly feeling incredibly open and vulnerable. He couldn’t see far outside his campsite, but surely anything else out there could easily see in. He dropped his cigarette in the snow. “Anyone there?” There was a beat of silence, two, and Meouch heard the crunching of snow behind the trees. Shit. He just hoped it wasn’t a wild animal that wanted him for dinner. “Hey! Get out where I can see you! Now!”

More snow crunching, a few steps, and then the shape came into view. It was Phobos, pale, shivering, hands in the air, looking utterly miserable.

Meouch scowled, setting his shoulders. Of fucking course it was Phobos. “What the fuck do you want? Wanna mooch off my fire, is that it?”

Phobos glared at him, his mouth set in a line. He would’ve looked angrier if he weren’t shaking like a leaf. He kept his hands up in surrender, probably intending for his body language to do the talking. He looked just as upset to be here as Meouch was to see him.

Meouch should’ve cursed him off for daring to show his face again. He should’ve turned him away, told him to make his own fire. If he had the nerve to shoot down Meouch’s ship and slice a chunk out of his arm with a sword, then he could take care of himself. But what came out of his mouth was, “Fine. Just don’t fucking bother me.” Meouch turned around and tromped back to the fire, picking his cigarette up out of the snow as he went. At this point, he didn’t care what Phobos did. He sat down on his bed of pine needles, claiming it, and crossed his legs. 

Phobos approached the fire slowly. He was favoring one leg over the other, and Meouch distantly remembered that he shot Phobos in the thigh earlier that very day. God, was it really still the same day? He lowered himself down, sitting at the very edge of the swept-away snow. He was as far away from Meouch as he could be while still being near the fire.

He really was in rough shape. He had snow stuck to his hair and his armor, and he was biting his lips to keep his teeth from chattering. He shoved his hands into his armpits in an attempt to warm them. Was this really the same pompous douchebag who had lorded over him all high and mighty back on that asteroid?

Meouch chewed at the inside of his cheek. Of course he was. People didn’t change when they were cold and hungry. Phobos still wanted him dead. Just because they had a truce didn’t mean he could be trusted.

Phobos sat still, curled up on himself, staring dully into the fire. Or at least, he looked like he was staring at the fire. His pure-white eyes were hard to read. He could’ve been staring at Meouch like Meouch was staring at him. It was weird seeing him like this. He normally had his helmet obscuring his expression entirely, and he seemed far more vulnerable without it. He was a person under all the armor and righteous fury. Just a person.

Meouch glared at the fire. He kept flip-flopping back and forth. He didn’t need to start feeling sympathetic towards Phobos. He didn’t deserve sympathy. All Phobos did was… lose his home and his people, and then act accordingly with what he thought was the right thing to do. Fuck.

“Look,” he said, already feeling exhausted by this whole situation. Phobos turned his head to look at him, seemingly surprised that Meouch was speaking to him without growling at him. “About your planet. I’m sorry about what happened. I’m  _ not _ saying it was my fault,” he added quickly, not wanting to give the wrong idea. “I didn’t do shit. I’m not saying I’m responsible, and I’m not saying I forgive you for fuckin’ hunting me down and trying to kill me. But either way… It’s terrible, what happened. No one should have to go through that. I’m sorry.”

Phobos stared at him from across the campfire. His eyebrows were furrowed, but not in an angry way. At least, Meouch hoped not. Several seconds passed. The fire crackled between them, and was the only thing keeping the silence from growing awkward. Meouch started to worry that his condolences had fallen on deaf ears (well, not deaf, but unwilling to listen), but Phobos finally nodded and then broke eye contact. He went back to staring at the fire, expression unreadable.

“I know we agreed earlier, but I think it’s worth stating again. We’re not going to try and kill each other until we’ve gotten off this planet. Or found civilization, whichever comes first. Yeah?” Meouch asked. Phobos nodded again, not looking up. “And I’m going to tack onto that: no maiming, no hurting, no stealing each other’s shit or purposely fucking each other over. We are neutral parties for the time being. Okay?”

Phobos tilted his head back up at him, glaring again.

“What, you don’t like that I’m calling the shots? You should’ve thought about that before you decided to give up talking,” Meouch said. “The way I see it, you can either take it, or go freeze your ass off in the dark. ‘Cause I ain’t letting you stay near my fire if we can’t get some fuckin’ ground rules down. All right?”

For a brief moment, Phobos considered his options, which were pretty limited. His intense glare softened, and he nodded.

“Nah man, I need more than just a fuckin’ nod,” Meouch grunted. He stood up and walked around to the other side of the campfire, where Phobos sat, and stuck out his hand. Phobos looked at his hand, looked him in the eyes, and then looked back at his hand again. He shook it.

Without another word, Meouch went back to his bed of pine boughs on the cold forest floor. He piled another couple pieces of wood onto the fire, making sure that it would keep burning for another little while. He took one look back at Phobos--he had scooched a little closer to the fire, and was holding his shivering hands up to it--and lied down with his back towards him. He didn’t foresee much sleep in his future, but he needed to try. It wasn’t like he was gaining much from talking to the silent wonder anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden.
> 
> They have a truce!! This was one of those scenes that I had planned out from the beginning, but the dialogue took like three times to get right. I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment if you did; I read each and every one and they make my day that much brighter!
> 
> Thanks again to my editor Ashe! U da bes!
> 
> Have a great weekend, everyone! And if you're in the US, happy labor day!


	8. landfill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch and Phobos head out in search of civilization and find more than they bargained for.

Phobos held his hands out to the fire to warm them as he kept a close eye on Meouch. The guy had been lying down for a while, and if his steady breathing was any indication, he seemed to be asleep. Good. Maybe Phobos’s heart could settle down from the panicked frenzy it’d been in. Being around the Commander made him nervous, and for good reason. Phobos could hold his own when he had a jetpack and his sword at his disposal, but when he was injured and unarmed like this? Forget it.

He hated literally everything about his current situation. He was cold, hungry, sore, tired, and frustrated. Of course Meouch was sorry about what happened. How could he not be? Nothing was ever that black and white, was it? Phobos had wanted to end all of this before he had the chance to start seeing the gray in between--before his mission grew even more difficult.

Too late now.

He resisted the urge to curse under his breath. He wasn’t about to break his vow of silence now. He swore he would never speak again until he had killed Meouch.  _ Was he really going to kill Meouch?  _ Yes. He had to. He swore that he would.  _ He should just do it now, before things got even grayer. Meouch was asleep.  _ No. He shook on it. He wasn’t going to do anything while they were still on this planet. He refused.  _ No one would know. _ Phobos would know. __

He was a man of his word, no matter how difficult that word was to keep. 

What did it matter that Meouch was sorry? Sorry wasn't going to bring his people back. Sorry wasn't going to get him off this planet, or bring back his home, or his parents, or his brother, or his old life. Almost all of his planet's inhabitants were dead, and it was all Meouch's fault.

Phobos’s stomach painfully twisted up in a series of knots, and not just from hunger. He really,  _ really _ wished he had finished the job when he had the chance on the asteroid.

He eventually curled up on the ground to try and sleep. His ribs ached as his weight shifted, his armor pressed into him uncomfortably, and his tired, cold feet clunked against one another like they were nothing more than bricks at the ends of his legs. His long hair pooled around his face, and he crammed his hands between his thighs to try and keep them warm. His mind was buzzing with thoughts that he couldn’t silence, and when he eventually drifted off, it was an uneasy and nightmare-laden sleep.

* * *

Phobos woke up several times throughout the night. Once was from a bad dream, something involving Funk and his people dying. At least two times were from hearing Meouch move, the slightest sound snapping Phobos awake even though the Commander had merely shifted in his sleep. Each time, it took him painfully long to drift off again. By the time morning broke, Phobos was werely slipping in and out of consciousness instead of sleeping, and felt utterly exhausted. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve slept better alone and in the cold.

Meouch was already up and rebuilding the fire, trying to coax a few embers out of the little bit of wood he had left. His armor looked a bit frosty at the edges, but aside from that, he didn’t look like he’d slept outside in the snow. Phobos, on the other hand, was freezing. The cold from the ground had seeped into his bones, and his blond hair was dusted with frost. He hadn’t exactly been that close to the fire last night, too nervous to get right up next to it, and now he was paying for it. He wasn’t covered in snow or shivering too bad, so at least there was that. He made the right choice in seeking out Meouch’s camp last night.

His stomach growled so loudly he swore it could’ve echoed through the trees, and Meouch turned to look at him. The Commander stared at him for a second, and then grunted in lieu of a proper  _ good morning. _ Phobos sniffed in response, scrunching up his nose.

Phobos pushed himself upright, the ache in his chest dulled but still painful, and shambled away from the camp to do his business. When he returned a couple minutes later, Meouch had a tiny fire going, just big enough to warm his hands over.

“Hey,” Meouch said as Phobos approached. Phobos stopped in his tracks. He hoped Meouch meant what he said the night before about being neutral parties. He wasn’t feeling up to fighting this early in the morning. Meouch kept on talking though, not even noticing his hesitation. “So I take it we’re gonna be sticking together,” he said, holding up a lighter. “Unless you know how to make your own fire?”

Phobos shook his head. As much as he didn’t like it, he needed Meouch and his lighter if he didn’t want to freeze to death. He knew  _ in theory _ how to make a fire, but in practice he had a feeling it wasn’t so easy.

Meouch sighed and tucked the lighter away. “All right. We gotta keep moving. We need actual shelter, and some fuckin’  _ food, _ and… y’know, all that shit. We need water too, ‘cause this shit?” He picked up a clump of snow and munched into it. “This ain’t exactly cutting it.”

Phobos made a face. Who knew where that snow had been? Meouch rolled his eyes.

“What? Ain’t like anything’s been here to contaminate it. We’re the only ones in this whole stinkin’ forest.” He took another bite of snow and then dropped the rest on the ground.

They were the only ones? Phobos blinked. He hadn’t noticed it until just then, but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard any birds chirping, or seen any footprints in the snow that didn’t belong to the two of them. The realization sent a chill down into the empty pit of his stomach. If this planet was all forest, with no wildlife whatsoever, what the hell were they going to eat? Pine needles? If there was no civilization, how were they going to get off-world?

Meouch must’ve noticed the expression on his face. His shoulders drooped, and he took to poking the fire with a stick. “Yep. No birds, no rodents running around, nothing. Don’t know what we’re gonna eat, which is why we gotta get a move on. If we stick around here, we’ll starve for sure.”

Phobos frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, just out of habit, and then quickly closed it again. Not being able to talk was a pain in the ass, though he supposed taking a vow of silence wouldn’t mean much if it were easy. He picked up a stick instead, and started writing into the snow. It wasn’t easy to do neatly, and he had to write pretty big for it to be legible, but it was better than trying to communicate via fucking charades.  _ STAY PUT + WAIT 4 RESCUE?  _ Phobos wrote. Every bit of survival advice he’d ever heard advised staying in one spot until help came. Maybe Sung and his friend would show up.

Meouch had to get up from his seat at the fire to come over and read it, which he did with a lot of audible grumbling. “Rescue? I doubt it,” he grunted, snorting through his nose. “The only people who know we’re missing in the first place are the cyborg and the cone guy. We don’t even know how we  _ got _ here--or where here even  _ is,  _ for that matter. We could be in a different fuckin’ dimension for all we know.” He set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I ain’t waiting around for them to come find us after we disappeared into thin air.”

Phobos wrote again.  _ WHAT IF NO WAY OFF PLANET? _

“Then we’re fucked,” Meouch huffed. “C’mon, let’s get moving.”

They begrudgingly dismantled the campfire and went on their way. They picked a direction and started their trek through the forest, trudging through the snow, which was deeper than it was yesterday by a good couple of inches. The sun was shining in earnest, warming their skin and encouraging the ice to melt from the trees, resulting in a gentle pitter-patter of drops hitting the soft snow. Phobos tried to catch a couple drops in his mouth, but most of them just ended up going in his eyes.

Meouch took the lead through the forest while Phobos lagged behind, about twenty feet or so. The muscles in his thigh burned from the blaster shot he’d received the day prior, the ache reaching down to his knee, and he was tired from the cold and the hunger and his shitty night’s sleep. He was fine letting someone else lead the way ahead of him. Walking through Meouch’s tracks was a lot easier than trampling through the snow himself, and he didn’t want to put up with conversation, anyway.

Phobos refused to let his guard down, and kept a close eye on the Commander as they walked. Meouch didn’t seem relaxed per say, but he did have a certain nonchalance to his movements. He lazily kicked the snow out of the way as he walked, flicked skinny icicles off of tree branches with his free hand, and could frequently be heard humming, whistling, or mumbling to himself. At the same time, he was constantly looking around for any change in their environment, and was walking at a good pace. This wasn’t a leisurely walk in the park, but he didn’t seem to have the motivation to rush, either. If he even could rush, anyway. He was cold and hungry just like Phobos was.

The scenery didn’t change for much of the day. Just trees, snow, hills, and valleys. Phobos was focused on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping his hands warm. If it weren’t for the fact that being around Meouch made him nervous, he probably would’ve been bored.

Meouch didn’t hear anything, as he was probably too preoccupied talking to himself, but Phobos’s ears perked up sometime after midday. He clapped a few times to get Meouch’s attention, and then stopped walking. Meouch stopped in his tracks, turning around to look. Phobos stood still, one finger raised, listening.

Water.

He could hear the babbling of a stream, probably not too far away. It was definitely louder than the gentle drops of melting snow all around them, which was promising. A stream meant water, and maybe civilization if they followed it long enough.

Meouch heard it too then, his feline ears standing at attention and swiveling to find the source. He sniffed at the air, maybe able to smell something that Phobos couldn’t. He turned to the right, locking in. “Good eye,” he said, glancing back at Phobos. “Or, uh, ear. C’mon.”

It only took an additional minute or two of walking to reach the creek, if it could even be called that. It was only about four feet wide, and even with the melting snow feeding into it, it was only a little more than ankle deep. Still though, water was water, and water was infinitely more refreshing than snow.

Meouch knelt down and started to scoop the clear water into his mouth without hesitation. He eagerly gulped it down, and then shook off his hand. “Oh fuck, cold, cold, cold,” he hissed, wiping it off on his thighs. After about ten seconds of letting his hands dry, he went back for more.

Phobos was a little more wary. This was… wild water. It was touching rocks and trees and stuff. He didn’t know if this was safe. Wasn’t it a good idea to boil water before drinking it like this?

But then he looked at Meouch going to town, and his own mouth felt suddenly dry. He took a deep, slow breath in and out. Fuck it. He was probably going to die out here anyway, if he was being a pessimist about it. Contracting some microbial infection was the least of his worries right now. He followed Meouch's lead, leaning down over the river to take a generous drink.

The chill in his mouth and down his throat was immediate, and he shivered as he felt the water go down. It was good though. It tasted plenty fresh to him, even if he was used to something a little more filtered.

Phobos sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth. He tucked his hair behind his ears and looked around, searching for anything new or exciting. Still no animal tracks anywhere, but aside from that, there were the usual snow banks, old logs, and piles of slick, icy rocks. Nothing that--

Something caught his eye on the other side of the stream. It glittered under the water, and it sure wasn't snow. He stood up, brushed some of the snow off his knees, and then jumped the gap. His thigh ignited in pain from the impact of landing on the other side, but after a few moments, he was able to brush it off. He plunged his hand underwater towards the object, and the freezing cold shot up straight to his elbow. He gritted his teeth, nudged some fist-sized stones away, and pulled out his prize.

It was a large broken glass bottle, still relatively clean despite being in a riverbed for probably a while. He felt his heart leap in his chest. This was man-made. That meant, at the very least, that someone had passed through here before. With any luck, there would be a town nearby.

Phobos cleared his throat, and Meouch looked up. For a moment he looked uninterested by the litter, until he realized what it implied. "Oh shit, so this ain’t just some uninhabited backwater planet after all?" he gasped. He quickly climbed to his feet and did his best to dry the water off of himself. "Let's see, stream's coming down this way..." he muttered, watching the flow of the water. "So that means that any litter probably floated down from up there." He pointed upstream, towards a hill and a slightly more sparse section of forest. He hopped across the river, and held out a hand to help Phobos back to his feet. "Shall we?"

Phobos ignored his hand and got up on his own. He didn't appreciate Meouch getting all chummy just because they were traveling together. He scowled, scrunching his nose up at him.

"All right, fine, fine," Meouch huffed. "Just tryin' to lighten the mood..." He let Phobos take the lead this time, and Phobos obliged, turning so quickly that his hair flipped around. He started hiking upstream, the pain in his thigh and ribs be damned. His scowl softened once Meouch was behind him, unable to see his face. Being friendly with each other would just make the inevitable more difficult.

They marched through the snow for another hour. Eventually, the hilly landscape started to even out, and the trees began to thin. When Phobos's foot sank through the snow and hit pavement, he stopped. It was hard to tell since the snow hadn't been shoveled, but there was definitely a man-made path under his feet. Thank the stars _. _

There were still plenty of trees around, so they weren’t quite out of the woods yet, but Phobos could see more signs of civilization. An old wooden fence, warped from the wind and the snow. A garbage can, overturned and cracked with a skinny tree growing through it.

Suddenly, the treeline stopped. There was what looked to be a neighborhood ahead of them, covered evenly in snow. Phobos could see structures, houses perhaps, tall conical buildings with steeply angled roofs, and alien vehicles trapped in unshoveled piles of snow. He would’ve been excited if the whole scene wasn’t still eerily quiet.

“What the hell?” Meouch muttered as he walked up behind him. They had emerged into a backyard in some residential area, but it seemed… empty. No audible activity from the street, no lights on anywhere… Just the shimmering of windchimes from every porch when the breeze blew. He stood next to Phobos, eyes darting around, trying to look for anything that suggested any sort of activity, but there was nothing there. “Now this is just getting creepy,” he whispered, almost afraid to break the quiet.

The two of them went through the backyard and out through a gate. The door was hanging by one hinge, and had a lattice of snow-covered plants growing around it. They stepped out past the home--tall, to the point of feeling slightly disproportionate to themselves, and with no visible windows--and headed into the street, sticking close to each other now. The street was completely covered in undisturbed snow. Vehicles were abandoned in the middle of the road. Some of the conical houses on the street had completely collapsed in on themselves. Others were entirely taken over by vegetation. Young trees and bushes were pushing up out of the pavement, overtaking everything. The jingle of windchimes persisted.

Meouch and Phobos shared a glance. “What the hell happened here?” Meouch asked. “I mean… whatever it was, it doesn’t seem like it was recent.”

Phobos agreed. This place had been abandoned a long time ago, that much was obvious. Judging from the vehicles all stopped dead in their tracks, some even with opened doors, people left in a hurry. Why?

A chill crawled up the back of Phobos’s neck, making all his hair stand on end. He didn’t like this place. He stepped forward gingerly, focusing on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his boots. It was familiar, and made the street feel a little less spooky.

Meouch ventured forward, and Phobos followed close behind. As much as he hated Meouch, he had a feeling he would hate being alone in this place even more. Meouch brushed some of the snow off one of the vehicles in the street, trying to get a better look at it. It looked to be some sort of hovercar, due to the lack of wheels. It had no windows. It was just a single, solid teardrop-shaped piece of metal with doors on either side. It was big, taller than Meouch, as were the rest of the hovercars on the street and the houses that stood tightly-packed together. Whatever people lived here were taller than your average galactic citizen, probably around eight to ten feet if Phobos had to guess. Meouch pulled one of the doors open and it fell right off, the heavy metal  _ thwump _ ing into the snow.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, low in his throat. He wasn’t even looking at the door, too focused on what was inside. Phobos peered in to look, and immediately wished he hadn’t. There was a skeleton inside, hunched over the controls, long bony fingers gripping its forehead. It was tall, just as he suspected, and had no eye sockets. Blind. Well, that explained the lack of windows.

Inside the vehicle, hunched over the controls, long limbs reaching up and clutching its eye socket-less head, was a skeleton. Long dead. And just like that, there were his parents, on the dining room floor, dead. Everyone on the city streets outside the manor, dead. Everyone he had ever known, dead. Silent. Still.

His eyes darted around to all the other cars left in the street. He rushed over to another one, limping through the snow and low-growing bushes. He found a hovercar with the door already missing, and felt his heart seize up when he looked inside. Three more. Two were small enough to be children.

These people hadn’t just left this town in a hurry. They’d died here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Landfill: Earth by Groove Crusader. The good doctor himself!
> 
> Hi all! Sorry for the 2 week hiatus, I had a bit of a family emergency. I'll be okay, but I thank all of you for your patience!
> 
> Once again I'd like to thank my editor and gf Ashe for helping out with this chapter. She really helped some stuff make sense here, and overall this story shines brighter with her input. Thanks babe!
> 
> Enjoying the story so far? Let me know with a comment! I read each and every one, even if I don't reply, and every one puts a smile on my face. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great weekend! Go check out the new TWRP album if you haven't! There's some bops!


	9. destroy and ruin everything we touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funk couldn't do this. Right? Right?

Meouch stared at the skeleton inside the hovercar, his eyes lingering on the ivy that weaved through the ribs. This town was dead. Whatever killed these people did so quickly, without much harm to the environment around them, judging from the state of the vehicles and buildings. They were falling apart, but that was from time and weather. Whatever killed these people blasted through like a plague on steroids.

Just like what had happened on Phobos’s planet.

He shook his head and stepped away from the hovercar. No, there was no way. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? There were plenty of things in the galaxy that could kill people near-instantly while keeping everything else around them intact. Sure, none that he knew of  _ specifically, _ but there had to be  _ something,  _ right? And besides, even if it  _ was _ the same shit that killed Phobos’s people, it wasn’t Funk. It couldn’t be. Funk couldn’t  _ do _ this.

Meouch nearly jumped out of his skin when Phobos pulled his arm. He turned his head to look, and Phobos had a desperate expression on his face. He wanted to go, and he didn’t want to go alone. Meouch couldn’t blame him. They huddled up close together and set off down the street, giving any hovercars half-buried in the snow a wide berth.

“What happened here?” Meouch asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Phobos didn’t respond. Not even so much as a shrug. Meouch was starting to wish Phobos would break that vow of silence, just so that he could hear a voice other than his own. The quiet was freaking him out.

They walked through the middle of the street, trudging through the snow and avoiding the hovercars. Meouch had enough death haunting his mind in recent weeks. He didn’t need to see any more.

He hadn’t stuck around on Phobos’s planet long enough to see what happened first hand. He got in, made his delivery--a few crates of Funk, some of the old-school nasty shit--and got out. He’d delivered that shit a thousand times before. Hell, he used it himself whenever there was some extra lying around. It could knock a couple people on their asses at once if it was strong enough, but never a whole planet…

By the time he had heard the news, he and his crew were several systems away, in a seedy spaceport bar while their ship was gassing up. It had been a couple of days since the job. Meouch had been sitting at the end of the bar, enjoying a drink while half his crew were trying to start a fight over by one of the tables. He enjoyed a good tousle from time to time himself, but guys like that were exhausting. He prefered to just stay in his lane and keep to himself. He didn’t want any trouble that night--just a victory drink.

He looked up at the holoscreen up near the ceiling, trying to ignore the assholes. The news was on, showing clips from a disaster that had crippled a planet. A planet that Meouch found all too familiar.

Where just a few days ago there had been hustle and bustle, there was now complete quiet. Something had obliterated the planet’s population, killing most of the people and wildlife instantly while leaving the environment intact. There had only been a few survivors rescued so far, and all had been taken to hospitals off-world. Some were in critical condition just because they’d been in hovercraft when all the other drivers on the road dropped dead, resulting in one hell of a fender bender. Others, whom the news anchors reported had been safe at home when the incident occurred, had suffered massive internal trauma, shattered eardrums, and varying levels of brain damage.

Doctors said the symptoms pointed to an overdose of Funk as one possible cause, though no one was sure. Funk, or any other audio-based drug, had never been known to decimate a whole population at once before. It was utterly unheard of.

Meouch had put down his drink, his appetite gone. He felt like throwing up. He felt empty inside, utterly empty, as if someone had just scooped all his organs out. There was no way Funk was responsible for all that. No way. The… The news crew had to be lying. Sensationalizing the story, or providing an answer because the public wanted something easy to blame. That wasn’t his crew’s fault. It wasn’t  _ his _ fault.

Meouch hadn’t just killed billions of innocent people to make a quick buck. No way.

The group in the back, too busy being loud jackasses to see the news segment, finally succeeded in instigating a fight when one of them cracked another in the back of the head with a glass. The whole bar erupted into shouting, glass breaking, and fists flying everywhere. Meouch needed to get out. He needed to get away from this. From  _ all  _ of this. He ducked out of the bar easily, leaving his drink and his communicator behind. _ He  _ knew that the shit on the news wasn’t his fault (it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault,) but his supplier didn’t know that. They knew Meouch had taken that smuggling job. They would know where to find him. He had to  _ go. _

It wasn’t Funk. The news was lying. The results hadn’t come back conclusive. It was impossible. It wasn’t his fault.

After only fifteen minutes of wandering streets and back alleys, he found a used ship dealer at the shady edge of the port. He used most of his credits to buy a junker of a pod, saving the rest to buy a new communicator, and flew away from the spaceport two seconds after being handed the keys.

Commander Meouch was  _ done. _

That was all three weeks ago. Here, now, on this snowy, dead planet, he was seeing it all again, up close and personal.

Phobos was one of the only people to survive his homeworld’s apocalypse and the only one to get out unscathed. And now, they were stuck on a planet that had met a similar, perhaps even identical fate to his own. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

Meouch was sticking close to Phobos’s side, letting their arms brush together occasionally as they walked, just for the physical reminder that he wasn’t alone in this place. His eyes were wide, his shoulders were tense, and his fingers twitched in rhythm. Street after street, the town was empty and quiet. The shining sun had been covered by clouds. The wind was starting to pick up a little more, and the wind chimes that adorned the porches of the old houses jingled ominously.

“I don’t think we’re going to find any help here,” Meouch said softly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe we should start looking for a place to camp. I don’t want to sleep in the snow again.”

Phobos nodded once, too shocked to give him any attitude. Then he stopped, eyes glued to a large shape in the distant street ahead of them. He nudged Meouch and pointed.

It was a ship. Not one that was in any shape to fly, unfortunately. A tree had sprung up in the middle of one of its broken wings and had overtaken half the hull. It must’ve crashed there and been left to be consumed by the forest, like the rest of the town.

Regardless, Meouch almost smiled at the sight. Even if it couldn’t fly, the ship would have a communications system. If they could get that up and running, maybe they could reach someone and call for help. Maybe that was their ticket out of this place. They made a straight beeline for the spacecraft, feeling hopeful for the first time since they found the dead town.

It was a decently sized ship, the size of some of the smaller houses surrounding it. Well, for a nobleman like Phobos who was probably used to luxury starships, it was small. But for Meouch, who had called a cramped smuggling ship home for the past few years, and who had been living in a van-sized pod ship for the past few weeks, it was a decently sized vessel. He whistled as he approached. “Dang, she’s a sleek little number,” he said, admiring the compact thrusters built into the sharp, slicked-back wings. Of course, aerodynamics didn’t mean jack shit in space. Ships could be as bulky and clunky as they wanted without sacrificing on speed or efficiency, but still. Nice design was something to be appreciated.

Meouch brushed snow off the side of the ship, trying to find a hatch anywhere. Almost the whole thing was covered in ivy, ice, and rust, which made discerning its surface difficult. He couldn’t help but think how good it’d look with a fresh coat of paint. A real in-your-face electric blue. He’d cruise in a ship like that in a heartbeat.

He saw a flash of black and red paint under all the snow. Curious, Meouch continued to wipe the snow away, revealing a familiar insignia underneath. A lot of the symbol was covered in rust or had chipped off, but that didn’t stop Meouch’s heart from plummeting deep, deep down into his gut when he recognized it.

“No,” he whispered, frozen in place. “It can’t…”

He heard Phobos’s footsteps behind him. Meouch’s hands shook. God… He couldn’t run from this anymore. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore with the proof right in front of him. He felt sick.

Phobos tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around. Phobos looked merely curious--until he took in Meouch’s shocked expression. He took a step back.

“This…” Meouch started. He gulped, finding it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. He took a shuddery breath. “This was a Funk smuggling ship. Branded and marked for scrap by the Federation an’ everything. It probably didn’t even make it to impound before it was stolen back.” Every word hung in the silence, threatening to come crashing down. It was as if even the wind chimes had stopped to listen. “And now it’s crashed here. It can’t be a coincidence. It can’t just be a fluke.”

Phobos took another step back. He knew what was coming.

“Funk came to an unsuspecting planet, and everyone is dead without any other significant structural damage. That’s twice now. That’s not a coincidence.” Meouch felt his voice threaten to crack, but he kept going. “I didn’t think it was possible, but it is. Funk caused this, Phobos. Just like it did to your planet.”

Meouch looked him in the eyes. Phobos’s lips were pressed in a tight line, his chin wrinkled up under the stubble. He was trembling, and despite his rapid blinking, his four white eyes were shining and wet. A single tear fell fast and heavy into the snow at his feet.

“Phobos, I didn’t--” Meouch tried to explain, but Phobos shot him a furious glare that shut him up immediately. The poor guy took in a sharp, snotty breath through his nose, and looked for all the world like he wanted to yell, throw a punch, or both. But he didn’t do any of those things. Phobos wiped at his eyes, turned on his heel, and stomped away, heading back through the path they’d created through the snow. Meouch let him go.

“Yeah,” he croaked, grimacing at how thick and low his voice sounded. “Alone time. Same.” He watched Phobos leave until he vanished around a corner. Meouch was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Hello Helicopter" by Motion City Soundtrack.
> 
> Howdy y'all, sorry for the second hiatus in a row. Life got busy! Good busy, though. Hope you've all been well.
> 
> As always, thanks to my amazing gf Ashe for helping me tidy up this chapter. If you enjoyed what you read, leave a comment! They really do mean a lot. Have a good weekend!


	10. does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phobos is having a rough time as the snow picks back up again.

So. This was all that was left of his world. Phobos, trudging deeper and deeper back into the woods, couldn’t stop thinking about it. This world was more whites and grays than his own of reds and teals, colder than the warm, temperate climates he was used to, but it was the same. An overload of Funk, an unsuspecting population, a world left in ruins. All of these people, dead.  _ His  _ people, dead. His people weren’t extinct--they were spacefaring like most other peoples in the galaxy, so anyone offworld would be fine--but still, that was a lot of death all at once. To think that his city was as quiet and as still as this one… It was too much.

Everyone on this planet was gone, gone too quick to even realize what was happening. How many people never got to say goodbye? How many survivors, like him, saw what was going on and couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it? How many people had woken up after the chaos to find that everyone they knew was gone?

He remembered when the Funk hit. He had been in his room in the lord’s manor, reviewing some speech he was supposed to give at some commencement ceremony in a few days’ time, when the world ended. The noise, all at once, was crushing, deafening, blinding even. He fell, succumbing to the darkness and the loudness and the pain. And when he woke up, god knows how long later, he was alone. His parents were dead. His twin brother was dead. The servants were dead, the city was dead, and Phobos, for whatever reason that he still didn’t understand, was alive.

The empty, gnawing feeling in his stomach intensified, eating up his insides and leaving his ribs feeling hollow. He didn’t know when he’d sat down in the snow, but he was sitting, staring through tears into the middle distance while flurries fell all around him. God, he was so tired of crying. He’d probably run out of tears more times in the past three weeks than he had in his whole adult life. His face hurt, his eyes burned, his throat was thick. His wet nose stung in the cold, and his fingers were like ice. His armor was meant for the cold emptiness of space, not the wet, windy cold of a snowstorm.

Of all the places he could get stranded with the guy who destroyed his civilization, it just had to be here. A planet that had met the same fate, where killing Meouch would also mean dooming himself.

Man, fuck Meouch. Who needed him? He had a lighter, that was the only thing making him useful. Phobos didn’t need him. What he needed was for Doctor Sung to show up and give him a lift out of here. What he needed was for Meouch to never talk to him again, never look in his direction again, and to fuck off and go die somewhere. The universe would be better off.

The snow picked up a bit, flying around and clinging to his tangled mop of blond hair. The wind cut right through him, and he crammed his freezing hands under his armpits. He shuddered, his breath puffing up in front of him. As much as he should’ve been trying to get up and leave, to get out of this cold, he couldn’t bring himself to move. He was exhausted, couldn’t feel his legs, and he couldn’t stop thinking about… them. He just wanted to be at home, with his family, far away from all this. He wanted to be back in the manor, with its high, sunny windows, blowing off nobleman duties with his brother. He wanted to help his dad in the garden, talk about rocketeering with his mom… But all he could do was cry, hot tears burning down his face and his chest vice-tight.

He cried, silent and still, until he couldn’t anymore, eyes too swollen and red, throat too sore from holding back sobs. His head was pounding,  _ thump thump, thump thump,  _ but at least the ache in his gut had subsided. He didn’t feel as cold as he did before, even though the sun had set, and he was so tired, he could barely remember what he’d been crying about. So tired… Maybe he should take a nap. The snow wasn’t all that cold once he got used to it. All he had to do was close his eyes…

“Phobos? Holy  _ shit.” _

Phobos cracked an eye open, eyelashes stuck with frost. Was someone there? His mind felt so sluggish, like his head was filled with cotton. He realized, somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, that his breaths were rattling through his chest, and that he could barely feel his hands and feet. He felt something hot on his forehead, pushing aside his frozen, snow-caked hair.

“God, you’re freezing cold. Fuckin’ hell… Come on, you need to get out of the snow,  _ now, _ ” the voice said. Phobos felt heaps of snow get brushed off of him,  _ flump _ ing to the ground, and he could feel the harsh chill of the air again. How long had he been out there? It must’ve been a long time for the snow around him to get that thick. He could dully feel a pair of hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him back into awakeness. “Phobos? Can you hear me?”

He blinked, fighting to open his eyes. He opened one, two more, and saw the bleary face of Meouch looking down at him through the darkness. Great. Couldn’t this asshole just leave him alone? He groaned, protesting against being jostled, and closed his eyes again. He barely even cared that it was Meouch in front of him. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

He was shaken awake again. “Hey, no. Don’t fall asleep on me man, I need you to stay awake. Okay? After the hell you put me through, you’re not gonna give up on me. C’mon.” Phobos was hoisted up out of the snow, and his stiff, cold legs could make no attempt to hold himself up. Meouch grunted under his weight. “Can you stand?” he asked. Phobos couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his feet, or his legs; they were so cold. Why did he let himself fall asleep out here? There was a lurch, a sudden blur, and it took Phobos a slow couple of moments to realize he had been hoisted up and was now being carried in Meouch’s arms. He yelped, though it came out as more of a dry wheeze, and started fighting for Meouch to put him down. He tried to squirm and kick, but he was too cold and tired to move, and Meouch had no trouble holding onto him. He coughed, loud and harsh, as the freezing air attacked his lungs. This wasn’t fair. He wanted to be left alone; he never wanted to see Meouch again. Why did these things have to happen to him?

“I’ve been looking for you for  _ hours,” _ Meouch said, the low rumble of his voice barely audible over the wind and the crunch of snow underfoot. “I knew you needed some alone time, but then it started snowing, and it got dark, and… Fuck, I can’t believe you fell  _ asleep  _ like that.”

Phobos didn’t respond. His thoughts were caught in a loop of  _ cold. Tired. Cold. Miss Mom and Dad. Tired. Miss Deimos. Cold. _ __

He looked around and saw they were back in the town. How long had Meouch been carrying him? He wasn’t even sure. He kept slipping back and forth between being fully awake and being in a fuzzy, semi-conscious haze. “While I was lookin’ around for you, I found a couple of places that weren’t completely falling apart,” Meouch said, keeping his eyes forward as he walked. He’d probably been talking the whole time, but Phobos missed it. “I looked around on that ship, for… y’know, some answers, and… well, I found some food. Emergency rations. They’re old as shit, but the packaging says they should still be good. C’mon bud, almost there. There’s a decent house close by. Keep those eyes open.” Phobos squeezed his eyes shut in protest. They were  _ not _ buds.

Meouch carried him up some steps and shouldered his way through a front door, already open. The house was large, made for people much taller than them, and wasn’t in great condition. Phobos peeked one eye open again to look around. There was a gaping hole where a window used to be in one of the slanted walls, letting some of the wind and snow into the otherwise enclosed shelter. The wooden floors were warped and creaking, the ceiling was pockmarked with holes and water stains, and the furniture… was that moss? He guessed it was no dirtier than the ground he’d been curled up on, but still. He’d been expecting maybe a little bit more, but then again, this  _ was _ Meouch’s idea. Of course this sucked.

Meouch sat him down on the dirt-dusted couch (which honestly, was almost big and tall enough to be a bed) and brushed some more snow off him. Now that Phobos was out of the direct snow and the wind, he started to register just how cold he was. His hands and feet felt like icicles, his thighs were completely numb, and his knees and elbows creaked with every slight movement. His nose and ears burned, his teeth chattered, and his eyes ached. Had he been this cold the whole time?

“There, at least now you’re out of the storm,” Meouch sighed, arms hanging heavy at his sides. He rolled his shoulders, popping the joints, and sniffled. His nose was starting to run from being out in the cold. “Gotta get you warmed up. Gotta… get a fuckin’ fire started…” He was talking more to himself than to Phobos at this point, and kept mumbling out of earshot. He crouched down in front of the stone fireplace in the wall of the living room, where the mantle was sagging and buckling from years of neglect. There was a pile of firewood next to some rusted fire pokers, and a small pile of other supplies Meouch had managed to scrounge up. Looked like the Commander had been busy while Phobos was freezing himself half to death.

Why the hell did he think sitting out there in the snow was a good idea? He couldn’t believe he did this to himself. It was so  _ stupid… _ He could have died,  _ again.  _ Hell, maybe he did have a death wish.

Phobos closed his eyes, he assumed for just a second, but when he opened them there was a roaring fire in the fireplace and a bucket full of water at Meouch’s feet. God, he really was out of it. He blinked hard, trying to push the sleepiness away. At least his eyelashes weren’t sticking together from the cold anymore.

“All right, so,” Meouch grunted as he dragged the bucket of water closer to Phobos. Phobos could see a faint bit of steam coming off it. “The ideal way to warm you up without killing you is sticking you in a hot bath, but I’m not super eager to drag a bunch of snow in here, melt it, pour it in the rusty ass tub upstairs, and then have it crash through the fucking floor. So I got this. Stick your feet in.”

Phobos stared up at him dully. Part of it was because he was still trying to process what Meouch said, but the other part was because he was just confused. What was Meouch doing? Why was he doing  _ any _ of this?

“Ugh, seriously?” Meouch said, rolling his eyes. He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine! You wanna succumb to frostbite and lose your fuckin’ toes, go right ahead! I didn’t  _ have _ to drag your ass in here, y’know.”

Phobos sighed, his whole chest aching with the effort. He was too tired to get any angrier than he already was, and to be fair, he did want to keep his toes. He lamely kicked his boots off, which took a surprising amount of concentration. His feet weren’t black with frostbite, or at least they didn’t look like they were in the limited light from the fire, but they were about as dexterous as bricks. He eased them into the water, and felt the heat tingle up his whole body in a wave. He couldn’t remember the last time something hurt so bad while also feeling so nice. He almost started crying again right then and there. Just in case he did, he bent forward until his face was in his knees, and dunked his hands into the bucket with his feet.

He moaned, both from the pain and the relief. He felt Meouch climb up and sit down on the other end of the couch, but he didn’t look up. Hot tears were welling up in his eyes again, and he needed a moment just to relax and focus on regaining feeling in his digits. “Thank fucking god,” he heard Meouch whisper from the far side of the couch.

Okay, he was too curious for his own good. Phobos wiped his eyes on his shoulder and looked up, easing his hands out of the water. He looked at Meouch, sprawled out and exhausted on the couch, until Meouch looked back. He mouthed one word:  _ why? _

“Why?” Meouch asked, and then sighed heavily when Phobos nodded. “God fuckin’ dammit,” he groaned, momentarily tilting his head back. He sighed again. When he picked his head back up, the annoyance had faded from his face. He just looked… tired. “Why’d I save your ass? Because... no one else was going to,” he said. “If I left you out there, you would’ve died. Simple as that. And, well… We had an agreement. You haven’t tried to kill me, so I wasn’t gonna kill you by leaving you there. That’s that.” He said all this without making eye contact, without any waver to his voice.

Phobos wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Maybe if his brain had been firing on all cylinders, he would’ve been able to suss more meaning out of that statement, but as it was, he had a hard enough time just listening and understanding the words. Whatever. He dipped his hands back into the warm water, content enough to know that Meouch wasn’t going to hurt him.

He couldn’t be bothered to think about Meouch anymore. He was tired, he was cold, everything hurt… His head felt like cotton and his empty stomach felt like a pit, a black hole, pulling all his organs in and squashing them into nothing. He was definitely crying again. He just needed to focus on staying awake. If he stayed awake, he would get better. Sleep could come later, once he was warm. Everything else would come later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Pompeii" by Bastille.
> 
> Happy Halloween! This was one of my favorite chapters to write, so I hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a comment, have a good night, and stay safe!


	11. stars in my eyes with no light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch and Phobos spend the first night in their new shelter.

Meouch sat in the corner of the big creaky couch, eyes glued to Phobos, who was resting with his head between his knees and with his hands and feet submerged in the bucket of water Meouch had heated up over the fire. The poor guy was shaking like a leaf and slipping in and out of consciousness. Seeing him like this, and after everything that had happened that day… it was hard for Meouch to stay mad at him.

For crying out loud, Phobos had been sitting alone, in the cold, in the snow, in the dark, half-frozen for god knows how long. His hair had just been a tangled mat of snow, his eyelashes and nose had been crusted over with ice, probably because he’d been crying, and his skin was more blue than green. Seeing him like that… Meouch felt  _ bad _ . When they met, Phobos was all bravado and righteous fury. But when the anger burned away… This was all that was left.

Meouch heard Phobos’s slow, rattly breaths wheezing from between his lips, and felt his insides twist up. Of course he had to save him, bring him to safety and help him get warm. How could he not? Hell, he’d caused enough death already. He wasn’t going to leave Phobos to die, too.

Alone at the ship, after Phobos had stormed off, Meouch had just sat there for a while, cold and numb. It really was his fault. The more he thought about it, the less the revelation was a surprise. He’d known the whole time. As soon as he saw that report on the news, he’d known. It wasn’t a coincidence, it never was. So he looked for any loophole, any way it couldn’t possibly be true, any gap in the facts that he could sneak out of. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t his fault. He told everyone who asked that it wasn’t his fault. He screamed it at Phobos until he was blue in the face, and eventually, he started to trick himself into believing it. There was no way he could’ve done it. It couldn’t be true.

Because if it was true, then that meant he’d obliterated almost an entire planet’s worth of people. Millions, billions of lives. Culture. History. All gone. All rendered fucking moot because of some Funk.

After what felt like too long, sitting and smoking and trying not to cry, he picked himself up and looked at the ship one more time. He wanted answers. Something had to have gone wrong, something outside of his control. He hadn’t noticed anything different about that day. He was delivering the same sort of Funk he’d smuggled often, to a similar sort of planet. It wasn’t just, oh, these people don’t listen to music, so they can’t handle it. He smuggled Funk into music-less societies all the time. That was why it had to be smuggled in in the first place. Something _ happened. _

After about fifteen minutes of searching with trembling hands, he found a cargo hatch near the back of the hull, obscured by rubble, foliage, and snow, but otherwise open. After he shoved aside enough snow and chunks of pavement, he’d created a hole big enough for him to shimmy through. The inside of the ship was cold and almost too dark to see, even with night vision.

The whole vessel was tilted on its side somewhat, which made walking around the interior tricky, but he managed. He wasn’t helped by the fact that it was freezing cold. The sun wasn’t strong enough to warm the ship all the way through, and any cold that got inside stayed trapped inside. There was some respite from the wind, at least, but Meouch’s sharp teeth were still chattering.

He climbed up, fighting against the slanted floor of the ship and the piss-poor visibility. He was almost glad he could barely see. If he found any skeletons in here like he did in the hovercars outside, he probably would’ve completely cracked.

Meouch reached the bridge of the ship, two stories off the ground. There was a tiny bit of light coming in from the windshield, even though it was covered in half a foot of snow. It was just enough that the room wasn’t pitch black, and he could see more than just darkened shades of gray.

The bridge was fairly small; it had room for a pilot, a copilot, and a captain, but not a lot of room for anyone else. Not an ideal setup for an operation with a full crew, but serviceable. There were various supplies scattered about the room, all old and covered in dust. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a lot of stuff he would’ve expected to find in a bridge. There were a ton of empty food packets scattered about, empty bottles of water, some waterlogged books, and old, threadbare blankets piled on the floor by the captain’s seat. It looked like someone had been camping out there, albeit a long time ago. It made sense--Phobos had survived the Funk on his planet. Someone must have survived here, too.

Meouch shuddered. The place gave him the creeps, and the knowledge that the only way out was back through the cargo hold didn’t help. He wished Phobos had been there with him, if only so that he wasn’t completely alone. Too bad he’d pretty much ruined any chance at a real truce they’d had going..

He knelt down and shifted through the pile of food packets, curious if anything had survived. There were a few bags that were still sealed; all galactic standard emergency rations, which was very exciting. They were dehydrated, and he couldn’t tell how old they were in the dim lighting, so they would probably taste like shit, but he wasn’t in a position to complain. He knew where water was. He could rehydrate these and get himself something to eat. Fucking finally. It would be worth it to check out the ship’s galley and escape pods later, just in case there were more of them. He tucked the food inside his vest for later.

Ignoring the rest of the old campsite, he stood up and started poking at the ship’s control panel. Everything important was intact after the crash and however many years of just sitting around, but it was so caked in dust that half of the buttons wouldn’t push in all the way. Nothing turned on, which was to be expected. If he could clean this place out and get some power up and running… Maybe if he could get the ship’s solar panels up and running again… He wasn’t going to get this hunk of junk off the ground, but maybe, just maybe, he could get a distress signal out.

“Come on, baby,” Meouch whispered, wiping some of the dust off of the computer console. “You got me some food. Help me find a way off of this planet. Help me figure out what the fuck happened here. You can do that, right?” He turned a few knobs and flicked a couple of switches, mainly just to hear them click. He huffed and sunk into the pilot’s seat. “Eh, not with my luck, you can’t. But I don’t exactly have much to funnel my hope into right now. So… y’know. Please.”

Great. Now he was talking to a ship. He  _ really  _ wished Phobos was there. He didn’t like being alone.

This ship was promising, but he couldn’t handle being in there. Not by himself, at any rate, and not with his emotional state so fucking fragile. He found food. He could come back again later. Before he left, he scooped up some of the books that had been scattered around the floor. Maybe he could do some reading tonight by the campfire, just to get his mind off everything. He flipped through one of the books, the pages crackling and warped from age and slight exposure to the elements. It was too dark to make out the text, but it looked legible. In fact… it was handwritten. He flipped to the second half of the book, and it was all blank. A journal?

His heart skipped a beat. Maybe this could help shed some light on the whole Funk thing. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it on, eager for some light so he could get a quick glimpse. The handwriting wasn’t the neatest in the world, so it would take time to decipher properly, but he could at least make out the date at the top of the page. He squinted. Whoever wrote this had been using the correct format for the galactic stardate, but the numbers were all off. Despite being old and abandoned, this journal had been written fifty years in the future.

Wait. Meouch yanked his communicator out of his pocket and turned it on. He had thought that it simply glitched and displayed the wrong date and time when he landed here on this planet, but what if it hadn’t?

The screen blinked on. The stardate flashed at him, two hundred years off from what it should’ve been. Meouch’s mouth went completely dry.

They weren’t just on a far-off planet. They were stuck two hundred years in the future on a planet that had been dead for a century and a half. He knew then that he had to set out and find Phobos, whether Phobos wanted to be found or not.

Of course, he hadn’t expected to find Phobos as a popsicle, but that really was just his luck.

Sitting on the hard couch now, staring into the fire, Meouch pulled out one of his leftover cigarette halves and lit it. He smoked it fast and hard, right down to the filter. He tossed the butt into the fireplace and coughed, all the smoke stinging the back of his throat. It fucking hurt. He brought a hand up to his face and covered his eyes, rubbing his cold fingers into the fur. It did little to alleviate the pressure that was steadily building up.

He had to tell Phobos that they were in the future. He had to tell Phobos a lot of things. But while the poor guy was in and out like this, he wasn’t in a good state to be told anything. He couldn’t hold his head up, let alone process everything he needed to process.

Speaking of Phobos, he still had work to do. Meouch opened his eyes and got up, having to shimmy his way off of the large couch. Things in this house weren’t so big that they were unusable, but it did feel awkward moving around. He padded over to the fireplace and carefully stacked a couple more logs on top of the fire. The blaze was crackling away, and he actually felt warm kneeling next to it. In just less than two days, he had already forgotten what being warm felt like. It felt so, so good.

The wind howled outside the broken windows, and Meouch could hear the house creaking more than he would like. He was glad to be out of the storm, but this old shithole cone of a building didn’t exactly fill him with confidence, either. He’d explored the place earlier, when he was looking for Phobos, and while the bottom floor seemed structurally okay, he wasn’t sure about the upper floor or the roof. The place had held up for 150 years. He hoped it could handle a few more nights.

He glanced around the room, looking again for anything useful. Half the amorphous, colorless furniture was overturned and covered in lichen. There were a couple spots in the ceiling where water dripped silently onto the mossy floor. There wasn’t anything hanging up on the curved and slanted walls, and there wasn’t much decoration anywhere to look at. Blind, he remembered. The skeletons had no eye sockets. There were some alien-looking doodads on the side table by the couch and on some rickety shelves on the wall, but they weren’t too interesting. No, what Meouch found himself staring at were the coats and boots on the floor by the front door, ripped and covered in plantlife and snow. People had lived here. This was a family home, once.

He ripped his eyes away. He and Phobos were here now. He pulled the dehydrated food packets out of his vest and wiped some of the dust off. The faded text was hard to read in the light of the fire, the directions seemed straightforward enough. Open the bag, add hot but not boiling water for best effect, stir it up, and serve. He was lucky he found a kettle in the kitchen that hadn’t rusted that he was able to use. He’d had to sacrifice one of the old fire pokers to get the kettle propped up over the fire, but it did the job.

Meouch stepped outside, filled the kettle with more snow, and brought it back in. He carefully hung it from the fire poker, jammed harshly between the bricks of the mantle, and let the fire do its thing. He sat back and sighed. He knew he should be hungrier, but since he found Phobos, eating had been the last thing on his mind.

He had to apologize. He’d given his condolences for Phobos’s people last night at the campfire, and he had meant it, but it hadn’t been an apology. It wasn’t an admittance of guilt, or a promise to do better. Last night had been more about calming tensions, both with Phobos and within his own mind, than anything else. This time… He knew there was still a strong possibility that Phobos would still hate him and want him dead, but he had to say it anyway. With what Phobos was going through, he deserved a real apology.

Meouch turned his head to look at him again, and Phobos hadn’t moved. The steam had stopped wafting up from the bucket of water, and his hunched position couldn’t have been comfortable. He looked like he had fallen back asleep for the time being. That was fine. He could rest, as long as he was warming up. Meouch would wake him soon for food and more hot water, anyway. Once Phobos was warm enough, then he could pile on the blankets and go to sleep for real. Too soon, though, and he ran the risk of the blankets trapping the cold in with him.

The kettle started to whistle, and Phobos moaned quietly as he began to stir. “Hey,” Meouch said. “Food’s coming.”

“Mmm…” Phobos hummed as soon as he heard the word “food.” Considering he was barely awake, Meouch wasn’t going to count any miscellaneous noises he made against the whole vow of silence thing. Not that he knew the specifics of it or how it worked, but still. He gingerly pulled the kettle off the heat and he started opening up the packets. They were identical inside, containing dry gray-brown bricks of food and tiny bio-plastic sporks. Good. He didn’t want to try and look for clean silverware in this joint. He pulled out the sporks, poured in the hot water one packet at a time, and mixed the water into the dehydrated food.

It didn’t have much of a smell when it was all done, looking like some sort of meat and veg in a pale brown sauce. It looked shitty, but there was no way Meouch was going to stick his nose up at it. He quickly shoveled a bite into his mouth, unable to wait, and his senses exploded into overdrive. It barely had any flavor, but just by the virtue of it being food and being warm, it tasted like the best damn food Meouch had ever had.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled before he even swallowed. He held the other packet and spork out to Phobos, who was drying his hands off on his knees. “Dude, you gotta have some of this. It’s not even good but it’s  _ so good, _ you know?”

With sluggish movements, Phobos took the packet in both hands, and once again squeezed his eyes shut as the warmth hit his fingers. He sat there for a moment, just holding it and letting the steam wash over his face. When some of the blue in his face started to turn back to green, he scooped up some of the food-like mush and took a bite. His miserable grimace melted, and for a moment he looked actually awake. Then, without a change in his blank expression, tears started to stream down his face, as if the warmth had suddenly thawed them. Meouch pretended not to notice and went back to his meal without a word.

Things were… overwhelming right now. It was easy, once your walls were broken down and you were vulnerable, to keep breaking, over and over again. That was Phobos right now. Every small thing, just the act of warming up and taking a bite of shitty food, was just breaking him all over. Meouch couldn’t help but wonder when he would fall apart, too. He didn’t know what the hell was holding him together at this point, but it couldn’t last forever.

While it still held, he ate. He made sure Phobos ate. He added more hot water to the bucket, and found blankets upstairs that weren’t torn to shreds by the elements and time. He did all this without saying another word, too wary of the fragile silence.

When Phobos was finally warm, Meouch pulled the bucket away, loaded the couch up with as many blankets as he’d been able to find, and helped Phobos lie down. The poor guy winced whenever his leg moved or his chest twisted or bent, so Meouch eased him down carefully. He was asleep in seconds.

Meouch tried to sleep, curled up in a shitty, dirty armchair next to the fire. He really did. He wasn’t freezing cold, he wasn’t hungry, and he was completely exhausted. He wanted to sleep. But his brain wouldn’t  _ stop. _ Every moan and creak of the old house, being buffeted by wind and snow, kept his ears on high alert. Every pained cough and sniffle from Phobos’s direction clawed at his mind. And there was the frantic beating of his own heart, squeezed like a vice in his chest, shouting _ you did this, you did this, _ over and over and over. Every time he managed to drown it out and shove the thoughts away, Phobos let out a ragged cough that was enough to remind him,  _ we’re here because of you, he’s sick because of you, they’re gone because of you. _

He sat, curled up in a ball, in that shitty arm chair. He stared at the fire. He stared at Phobos. He felt nauseous, his stomach not used to food after two days without it. Or maybe it was because the guilt was finally catching up to him. He didn’t know. His head hurt, his burning eyes hurt, the arm that Phobos had sliced a chunk out of the day before hurt, and every nervous beat of his heart just  _ hurt.  _ He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget, at least for a little while, but he wasn’t that lucky. He was never that lucky. He stayed awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Life on the Moon" by David Cook.
> 
> If you're an American like me, hoooooo boy what a year it's been this week. Hopefully this chapter was a nice distraction for you if you needed it! And if you voted for Trump, you can stop reading my fic now. Just so we're clear about that. But yeah anyway, Meouch and Phobs are goin through it! Maybe they'll actually talk shit out soon. Maybe. Hopefully.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments! Have a nice weekend!


	12. there's an albatross around your neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Meouch and Phobos to talk.

Phobos wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he had slept. He had been dozing on and off all night, and everything after he had eaten just felt like a giant blur. By the time he actually quote-unquote woke up, there was faint light streaming in through the windows, the sun obscured by overcast clouds. He could smell smoke, either from the fireplace, Meouch’s cigarettes, or both, and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. He was overall feeling unrested and miserable.

Everything hurt. His chest hurt, his legs hurt, his hands and feet hurt, his face hurt, his throat hurt, his lungs hurt. He didn’t think it was possible for so many things to hurt at once. Shouldn’t his brain prioritize the one that was hurt the most, leaving the others to fade into the background? He coughed, and everything from the chest up felt like it was getting hit by a freighter ship. He couldn’t help but let out a weak moan.

He heard Meouch shift nearby, and Phobos’s eyes shot open in panic before he quickly calmed down again. He habitually kept thinking of Meouch as an enemy and a threat, when… he had saved him last night, hadn’t he? Meouch had saved his life. He could’ve died out in that storm, but he was taken inside and given food and water and blankets. Meouch could’ve been rid of Phobos without having to lift a finger, but he saved him instead. He cited their deal as the reason why, but… protecting each other wasn’t part of the deal. So why, then?

Meouch was by the fire, sitting cross-legged, and staring right at him. Phobos stared back, his head craned into his shoulder. Meouch looked terrible. His mane was a mess, there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and there was a cigarette, smoked almost all the way down, between his lips. Even from where Phobos was laying, groggy and only half-awake, he could see Meouch’s fingers tremble as he took the cigarette butt and squashed it against the mantle. “Hey,” he said.

Phobos didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think, and even if he did, his brain wasn’t awake enough yet to think it. So he just continued to stare.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

He sniffed. There was no point in trying to hide it. He shook his head. The movement sent daggers through his temples, and he hissed through his teeth.

“That bad, huh?” Meouch asked, keeping his voice down. He pushed himself up with a grunt and padded over. “Can you sit up? You should drink something. It might help.”

Too tired to argue, Phobos tried, and just felt everything explode in ache. He felt nauseous, his head was pounding, he felt dizzy, he--

Meouch helped him up the rest of the way, a shaky hand on his shoulder. Phobos suddenly found himself sitting upright, his feet dangling off the side of the tall couch, Meouch sitting next to him. “You’re okay,” he said, holding Phobos steady with one hand. The other held a chipped ceramic mug full of water. “You’re okay. Take your time. Last night was… bad. Just take it easy.”

Phobos closed his eyes until the dizzy spell went away and until his head stopped pounding. He took the mug with both hands and drank. The water was warm, probably from snow melted over the fire, and it tasted stale. After only a few sips, he felt his stomach churn. He hoped he wouldn’t throw up again. Hell, if he had trouble holding down a little bit of toast two days ago, the fact that he hadn’t puked from the old emergency package of dehydrated food was a miracle.

“Hey, so…” Meouch said, his voice oddly quiet. “I know you just woke up and you’re feeling like shit and all, but… can we talk?” He reached inside his vest and pulled out a small book--something he’d picked up around here by the shabby look of it--and placed it in Phobos’s hands. There was a pencil in between some of the pages, acting as a bookmark. “Here, so you can talk, too. I just… I have a lot of things I need to say,” Meouch said, “and I don’t really know how to say ‘em, but… I want to try. And I just… I need you to hear me out.” His fingers were laced together between his knees, and he was rubbing his thumb back and forth over a callus. “Please. If you can.”

Phobos had a feeling he knew what Meouch wanted to say, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to hear it. After yesterday, things were complicated already. This was just going to complicate things more. But he nodded. This conversation had to happen sooner or later. Phobos couldn’t run from this, too.

Meouch nodded back slowly. “I…” he started, only for his brain to seemingly get stuck, gears jammed in place. “Fuck, I don’t even know where to start. This… all of it. All of this is my fault.” He held his head in one hand, resting his index finger in the little nook between the bridge of his muzzle and his eye, while his other fingers hovered in front of his mouth. “What happened to your world, and all of those people, is my fault. And I knew--I  _ knew!  _ As soon as I heard what happened, I could feel it right in my gut, that it was my fault. That I did it. But I… I really,  _ really _ didn’t want it to be true.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, and already, it sounded wet. “So I lied,” Meouch said, his voice suddenly thick and unnaturally deep. “I lied to myself, and to you, and to everyone who asked, until I almost believed it. Until I could lie without thinking about it. But I did it. And I knew. And I…” Another sniffle, and Meouch pulled his hand away from his face. He looked right up at Phobos, and his eyes were bloodshot. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Phobos.”

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Phobos’s heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, leaving his chest feeling empty in its wake. Meouch  _ knew.  _ He knew the whole time that he was guilty. He could only dare to admit it when the evidence was staring him right in the face, and he couldn’t pretend anymore. He couldn’t pretend that his actions hadn’t resulted in the deaths of billions of people.

He… was scared. He was so scared of that truth, wasn’t he? And now here he was, admitting to all of it. He was… sorry.

Phobos nodded, his mouth pressed into a line. He kept nodding. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Meouch was supposed to be heartless, cold blooded, a pirate and a smuggler; it wasn’t supposed to be like  _ this-- _

“I swear, I had no idea that that could happen. I’m no angel or anything, sure, but I would never wish this sort of thing on anyone. I know that’s not an excuse, and it doesn’t change the fact that it  _ did _ happen, but…” Meouch took a second to breathe and to collect his reluctant thoughts. “I killed them. And I’m taking full responsibility now. As soon as I found out about your planet, I abandoned my whole fucking Funk operation. I just fuckin’ ran. I quit doin’ Funk; my hands have been shaking ever since, and I can’t sleep worth a damn, but I’m never touching that shit again. Not like I’m able to sleep anyway, with all that… you know, hangin’ over my head… Whatever. This isn’t supposed to be a Meouch pity party,” he croaked, doubling back on himself.

“I just want you to know that… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that because of my idiot move, I… killed your people. And that I ran, and lied, like a fucking coward. And that I shot you, and kicked you, and got you fuckin’ stranded here, and... It’s all my fault. And I’m okay with you not forgiving me. I wouldn’t forgive me either, after all that. And when we get off this planet, I won’t stop you. You can--”

Phobos shut him up with a firm hand on his shoulder and a shake of the head. He opened the book Meouch had given him to a blank page and started writing.

_ You’re not the only one who spent the last few weeks lying to himself. I can’t kill you. I can’t do it. And I’ve tried! But every time I think about it, it just makes me sick. Even back on Sung’s ship, when I thought you were dead, I wasn’t happy. I’m not a killer. I can’t kill you. _

Meouch blinked. He read the words, thrust in front of his face, two, three times. “You… what? What do you mean, you can’t?”

_ My whole life was ripped out from under me in an instant,  _ Phobos wrote. _ I had family, plans, a future laid out for me. And then... none of it mattered anymore. None of it mattered. And I didn't know what to do. What was I supposed to do? Leave home and... do what? Every direction and goal I'd had in life was gone. But... I knew that you were to blame. And I knew I could track you down, and I knew that you had to pay for what you did. And I thought that... if I killed you, then maybe I'd feel better. I'd feel better knowing my people were avenged, and that you wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again, and... I thought that maybe, after I took you out, that I would know what to do after that. _

_But that's not how it works. If I killed you, I'd be just as aimless as before. Moreso, even. I'd have blood on my hands. When Sung lied and told me you were dead, I wasn't happy. If he had given me time to actually think and process shit alone, I think I would've been a wreck. So I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm not going to hurt you._ _It was an accident. You’re sorry. You’re grieving like I am. For fuck’s sake, you saved my life last night. I can’t kill you. What would that accomplish? Just more death. I thought I could convince myself that I could kill you. But I can’t._

“But you can’t just let me  _ go,” _ Meouch argued. “I… I’m the reason all those people are dead! Your  _ family,  _ Phobos! I killed them! I killed a  _ planet!  _ I’m a fuckin’... scummy, lowlife,  _ monster, _ you can’t--”

Phobos cut him off again, shoving the book back into his hands. He pointed to the words he had written on the page, underlined in heavy pencil: _I._ _Forgive._ _You._

Meouch stared down at the page, silent. He looked up at Phobos, whose face was set in a tense, serious expression. Phobos nodded, and gave his shoulder another squeeze.

And Meouch absolutely shattered.

He stared up at Phobos as his shoulders shook, his breathing hitched, and three weeks worth of tears finally succeeded in fighting their way to the surface. As soon as the first drop fell, he turned his head away, shoved his palms into his eyes, and stood up. He looked like he wanted to leave, to just rush out the door and hide in the snow, but he didn’t move. He grimaced, head tilted down, arms pulled in close to his chest. He took a snotty breath in through his nose, and he tried, he  _ tried _ to breathe out calmly, but all that came out were chest-quaking sobs. He collapsed back down into the couch, and Phobos put a hand on his back. 

Meouch had been burying and suffocating all of this, shoving it deep down and trying not to think about it. And wasn’t that what Phobos had been trying to do? If he was angry and on a quest for revenge, then he didn’t have time to be sad. He didn’t have time to miss his parents, or his brother, or his home and everything he knew. He cracked under that pressure a lot sooner than Meouch had, but he had still tried to cling to it after the fact. Phobos had kept trying to convince himself that he was angry, angry enough to kill. He forced himself to be angry to push away the heartache. He forced himself to follow the mission to completion so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that every other goal he’d had in life had basically been rendered moot. And sure,  _ maybe _ he could’ve done it when Meouch was just a name, just an asshole in a helmet, running and lying and fighting him at every turn. Maybe he could’ve killed Meouch from afar, by shooting his ship down and never having to get closer than that. But as soon as he saw under the space helmet, saw all the little things that made Meouch a  _ person…  _ It was all downhill from there.

Meouch had lied because he was grieving, too. It wasn’t personal, like Phobos’s, but the scope of it was so, so much bigger. Of course he ran and denied it. It was too much.

And now it was crashing down on him all at once, and Phobos didn’t know what to do.

Part of him was saying  _ good.  _ Meouch caused all this. Meouch was the reason he had been suffering for weeks. Meouch deserved to suffer, too. But the other part of him, the part that kept pulling his heart lower and lower into the pit of his gut, knew that it was an accident. They had no idea how Funk caused this. Meouch hadn’t even thought it was  _ possible.  _ But it  _ was _ possible, and now, here they were, both separately trying to pick up the pieces.

Phobos rubbed small circles into Meouch’s back. He forgave him. They were done trying to kill each other. As far as Phobos was concerned, they were in this together, now.

Meouch didn’t move, aside from curling his head into his chest and wrapping his arms tight around himself. He was crying, harsh and loud, enough that he was shaking and coughing whenever he managed to catch his breath. Phobos kept a firm hand on him. Without his voice, it was all he could really do.

His voice… Dammit. He clenched his jaw and squeezed Meouch’s shoulder. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Meouch coughed again and groaned, a low, hoarse whine. Phobos reached for the chipped mug of water that was sitting forgotten on the coffee table and tried to nudge it into his hands. Meouch looked up then, and wiped his eyes and nose on his arm. He still had tear tracks carved into his fur, and his eyes were, somehow, even more bloodshot.

“You… You don’t have to do this,” he croaked. He took the mug in his trembling hands, sniffled, and took a small sip. “You don’t have to be nice to me, or give me your pity. I’ve been nothing but a piece of shit to you; you don’t have to pretend.” Phobos moved to write in the notebook again, and Meouch cut him off before he could get there. “And last night doesn’t count. You would’a died out there in the snow. I just did what I had to.”

Phobos found the spot in the book where he’d left off.  _ You didn’t have to do anything. A real piece of shit would’ve gladly left me there, especially since I’ve basically just been dead weight this whole time, anyway. You’re the one with the survival skills. _

“I wouldn’t call ‘em that,” Meouch said. He coughed, clearing his throat, and took another sip of water. He kept his eyes locked on the book, not even glancing up at Phobos. “I have a lighter, that’s about it.”

_ You knew how to warm me up without sending my body into shock. Which, by the way, thank you. I don’t know if I’ve said that yet. _

“Don’t thank me! I’m the whole reason you were  _ in _ that situation in the first place! Fuckin’...” Meouch sighed. His shoulders rattled off some residual shakes, and he blinked hard to fight off a second round of tears. “Yeah, maybe someone else  _ would’a _ left you out there. Maybe, if I hadn’t had some sense knocked into my by this whole fuckin’ escapade, I would’a left you there, too. But I saved you, whatever. That doesn’t change the fact that--”

_ “Shh,” _ Phobos hissed at him, shutting him up. Was he allowed to shush? Fuck it. It was his vow of silence, so it was his rules. He could shush. He scribbled quickly in the notebook, punctuating his sentences with harsh jabs on the paper.  _ You made a mistake. You realized it was wrong, and right away, you tried to change. Right? _

“Um…”

_ Right? _ He underlined it.

“Yes, yes, I quit smuggling and threw my fuckin’ life away. Jeez.”

_ You didn’t handle it very well. You ran and you lied. Hell, I arguably handled shit worse, since I tried to kill you purely for revenge. But you told the truth. You helped me. You’re done running. Let me give you some fucking water and a pat on the shoulder, okay?  _ Phobos thrust the book at him and glared until he was done reading.

“Okay, okay, fine! Damn, you’re  _ mean _ when you’re tryin’ to be nice,” Meouch grumbled. He brought the mug up to his lips to take another sip, but Phobos could see a hint of a smile peeking out from behind the chipped ceramic. It didn’t last long, and the smile soured. Meouch still looked on the verge of tears. “... You sure, though?” he mumbled into the mug,

Phobos frowned.  _ You didn’t know Funk was this dangerous. What could you have done differently to prevent this if you didn’t know? _

Meouch hesitated. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I dunno,” he said, but he didn’t sound any less miserable about it. “I could’a quit smuggling sooner. It wouldn’t have been easy to get out of the business, but...”

Phobos tilted his head a smidge.  _ What do you mean? _

He huffed. “Commander Meouch ain’t just a nickname. I made a name for myself, I  _ knew _ shit. And getting a career change when you’re a high-ranking, in-the-know member of some criminal shit? Forget it. I’m honestly surprised you found me before my supplier did.” He sighed. “I’m one of the best smugglers they got--or, was, I guess--but they never liked me much. They were probably jumpin’ at the bit to kill me.”

_ You have that effect on people, _ Phobos wrote. He gave Meouch a little nudge in the arm with his elbow. Meouch rolled his eyes.  _ It also sounds to me, _ Phobos continued,  _ like you  _ _ couldn’t _ _ have left sooner. They would’ve killed you. They still might, if they find you. _

“Yeah… About that,” Meouch groaned. “I don’t think they’re looking for me anymore, since, uh… Whatever that crystal was that zapped us here? Yeah, it also spat us out like, 200 years into the future. Whoops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Weight of Living Pt. 1" by Bastille.
> 
> What's this? Are the boys actually having a conversation like civilized people? Impossible. Next thing you know they're going to be best friends and joining a band together! Pssh.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment--I read every single one of them and they all mean a lot. Have a good weekend!


	13. a thrumming toothache of the mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're in the future, on a long-dead planet, and... wait, are they becoming friends? Nah, couldn't be.

Meouch took some time to explain what he learned aboard the ship to Phobos--that the dates in the journal and on his own communicator pointed to them being in the future, that there had been a survivor from this planet, and that the interior of the ship was still intact enough to potentially be of use. Even if they got a signal out and managed to hitch a ride off this planet, though, things would be different out there. 200 years had passed. Sure, plenty of people they had known could still be alive, but things wouldn’t be the same. Phobos’s planet would be a distant memory.

Phobos appeared deep in thought, only nodding occasionally as Meouch explained. He chewed on his pencil and stared off into the middle distance, processing everything. It was a lot.

_ Do you think, _ he wrote after mulling everything over for a few minutes,  _ that that thing in Sung’s lab that I tackled you into… was a Time Crystal? _

Meouch blinked hard, still trying to work through his stubborn tears. “I thought those were just a fuckin’ myth.”

_ Me too. And yet, we time traveled. What else could’ve sent us through time and space like that? _

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Meouch said. “If it  _ was _ a Time Crystal, I definitely have some more questions for Sung and Hogan, now. Y’know, if they ever find us again. If they  _ can.” _

Phobos shrugged.  _ Not that it really matters. Nothing is waiting for me back home, anyway. _

Right. Neither of them had a home or family or friends to get back to, did they? Unless they went back in time far enough to try and fix things, but Meouch wasn’t an idiot. That had time paradox written all over it, and attempting anything like that would probably rip the fabric of spacetime to shreds. He was stuck with this mistake, plain and simple.

Meouch felt a wash of heat and pressure build up behind his eyes. He was threatening to break again. He got up and slinked over to the fire in the fireplace, desperate for something to occupy himself with.

Mechanically, almost focusing more on blinking away the fresh batch of tears in his eyes, he set up a kettle of water over the fire to prepare the last of their food with. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, especially after completely spilling his guts out like that and crying like a baby, but he knew Phobos at least needed to eat something. Going hungry wouldn’t help him heal any faster.

Once the water was ready, he sat on the edge of the coffee table (a sturdy little thing, thankfully), and mixed together the last packet of emergency rations in the late afternoon light. The sun would be going down soon, but fuck it, it was breakfast time. Phobos had slept almost the whole day, and Meouch, worried about him, hadn’t slept, ate, or left the house. Meouch knew at some point he would have to go and check out the ship again to try and find more food, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Phobos alone. The guy was growing on him. Probably because he’d seen Phobos at his most vulnerable, and now, vice versa.

Phobos  _ forgave  _ him. Phobos knew exactly what he did and decided to forgive him and treat him with kindness. That was really going to take some time to sink in. Last night had been a tipping point, for both of them.

Unfortunately, Phobos was still not doing so hot, and could barely sit up on his own. He was propped up on the couch now, blankets and textured throw pillows piled up behind him so he could sit up and still rest. He’d been injured while they fought on the asteroid and in Sung’s ship, he was sick from spending a night asleep in the snow, and who knew what his physical state had been like before all that? If he had been anything like Meouch, then he hadn’t been sleeping or eating particularly well. He was in a bad place, and Meouch could only hope that they had enough supplies in this frozen town to help. Stranded on a dead planet was  _ not _ the place you wanted to be when you were sick.

When he had mixed the food enough that there weren’t any dry bits left visible, he handed the packet off to Phobos. Phobos pointed at the food, then at Meouch--asking if he wanted any. Meouch shook his head, even though, after the all-nighter he’d pulled, his stomach was totally empty. Plus, he felt like if he opened his mouth to talk, he was just going to start crying all over again.

He was a fragile mess, and that was scary. It wasn’t often he let down his walls and opened up like that. Hell, he didn’t know if he’d  _ ever _ done that, at least not since he was a kid. If he’d cried like that on any of the ships he grew up working on, he would’ve gotten his ass beat. Part of him had expected Phobos to lash out at him. A smaller part of him was still waiting for that to happen. But it hadn’t, at least not yet.

Phobos  _ forgave _ him. What the hell.

Between slow, deliberate bites, Phobos was thumbing through the journal, looking at the old pages with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. Thanks to time and the bit of weather that had managed to seep through the ship’s hull, the book was in rough shape, and the writing was barely legible. Meouch couldn’t read that shit, but Phobos was more than welcome to try.

As Phobos skimmed, his eyebrows knitted together, and he leaned in to read closer. He flipped to the back of the book, where he’d been writing before.  _ Where did you find this? _ He wrote, and passed the journal over to Meouch.

“Um, inside the crashed ship,” Meouch said, nodding towards the front door. The ship wasn’t far from the house they were squatting in, just down the street. Meouch would’ve liked to be closer to it, but this was the closest building that had seemed structurally sound. “It was in the cockpit, with the food and some other old crap. It looked like whoever survived had been camping out there, but not in a long-ass time.”

Phobos nodded and beckoned Meouch over. Meouch sat next to him on the couch, and Phobos took the journal and flipped back to the old writing. He pointed at a specific passage, and Meouch tried to read the faded handwriting as best as he could.

_ I’ve heard of this happening on a couple different planets and spaceports over the centuries, but it was always just a myth. Never proven, _ the old, sloppy handwriting said.  _ A whole population being wiped out, just dead with almost no trace. People blamed Funk, but no one really believed them. If only we had fucking listened, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess. _

_ I’ve heard of there being survivors when this happens, but I’m the only one here. Figured I’d write to keep myself from going totally off the deep end. The crash was three days ago. I broke my arm. Everyone else who might’ve survived the crash didn’t survive when our Funk tanks broke open. Help’s not coming. This part of the galaxy is too fucking desolate. I might as well try and figure out what the fuck happened before I die here. Maybe it’ll give me some peace of mind while my surely infected arm kicks my ass to the grave. _

“Oh shit,” Meouch muttered when he was done. He couldn’t read much further since water had smudged the following paragraphs to hell. “I guess they died before they ran out of food,” he said, motioning toward the emergency ration Phobos held between his knees.

Phobos nodded. He took the book back and flipped through a few more pages, before settling on one and pointing again. It was near the middle of the book--almost at the end of the old writing.

_ I have no fucking clue if this is it or not, but I don’t exactly have a lot of information to go off of here so I’m just guestimating. With the little power the ship has left, I went digging through the surveillance logs in the cargo bay, to see if anything was weird about the Funk we were shipping. I thought someone was supposed to vent the fumes out into space every once in a while, but it looks like no one touched that shit for two weeks before the crash. On top of that, the…  _ And that was all Meouch could read before the damage to the book overtook the writing.

Meouch felt his heart slam against his ribs. “Wait, is that  _ it?  _ It can’t be. I forget to vent the fumes all the time, and it never made anything bad happen.”

Phobos took the book back.  _ Is Funk really that unstable? I mean, I guess I know now that it is, but... _

“Kinda, yeah,” Meouch sighed. “There’s gotta be other factors at play here, though. A susceptible population probably didn’t help things. Atmospheric composition could’ve played a role too, but… Fuck. Yeah, if you’re storing it long-term, it can turn dangerous on you if you’re not careful. And apparently, there’s some secret combination of bullshit that makes it deadly enough to wipe out a planet. Mother  _ fucker. _ ”

Phobos nodded slightly, though his mind seemed to be somewhere else. He sat there for a moment, thinking, bouncing the pencil between his fingers. He untucked some of his messy hair from behind his ear.  _ Yeah, my people were susceptible, all right, _ he wrote, almost reluctantly.  _ I wish we knew exactly how it happened, but… maybe it’s better that we don’t that way we don’t drive ourselves crazy, thinking, “Oh, if only I had done this or that or the other thing,” y’know? _

“... Yeah. Maybe. Still shitty though.” Meouch sniffed. His nose was still gummed up from his cry earlier, and he had no desire to start that up again. He really needed to think about something else. “Hey, so this says the ship’s computers were still functional after the crash, right? If we could power it up again, you think it’d still work?”

Phobos’s expression shifted into something more thoughtful.  _ Maybe. I have no clue what the internal wiring is like. I haven’t seen it for myself yet. If it hasn’t deteriorated too badly, then maybe. _

“You know how to wire a ship?” Meouch asked, squinting his eyes and staring. Phobos didn’t strike him as the sciencey type. Actually, he didn’t know what type Phobos struck him as, aside from nobility. And even then, he didn’t seem too concerned with manners most of the time. He was a pretty rough-and-tumble royal.

_ I’m more familiar with the blueprint stages of ship design, _ Phobos wrote with a shrug, brushing off Meouch’s incredulous glare.  _ But I can tell if it’s all wired correctly. Of course, since we’re in the fucking future, we might be dealing with unfamiliar tech. _

Meouch blinked. “Okay, let me rephrase. How the hell does a  _ lord _ know about the intricacies of designing a ship?”

_ I’m also a philosophical rocketeer and patron of the arts, _ Phobos jotted down with a flourish, putting down the period with a satisfying  _ tap _ on the page.  _ What, did you think I was just some prissy royal who sat around having tea parties all day? _

Meouch smiled a little bit. “Honestly? Kinda.” Phobos looked offended, and Meouch laughed. “To be fair, you came after me with all that  _ honoring your people _ stuff, and valuing your word, and all that chivalrous crap. Your armor is gold plated for crying out loud. You give off an air of hoity toity-ness.”

_ What, just ‘cause I have morals and nice armor? Judgy. _

“Fine, fine. Here, you can judge me now.” Meouch sat up straighter and held his hands out, inviting snide comments. “Let me guess, I’m a dashing roguish pirate and a force to be reckoned with?”

_ You’re a drunk, _ Phobos wrote quickly. He showed the page, and Meouch’s pride deflated.  _ Have you  _ _ seen _ _ the way you pilot a ship? You can’t fly straight to save your life. Not to mention your aim with a blaster. And your breath smells like cigarettes. _

“I’m sorry, I forgot to pack toothpaste before getting stranded on a fucking abandoned planet,” Meouch rolled his eyes. “How foolish of me, your Highness.”

Phobos snickered, actually  _ smiling _ for the first time, but it quickly turned into a harsh cough that shook his whole body. He slammed a hand over his mouth, letting the coughing fit run its course, and when it was over, he deflated back against the pillows and breathed wheezing breaths.

“Ah, jeez,” Meouch sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, we’ll… We’ll start worrying about the ship tomorrow. I’d be surprised if you can walk after last night, let alone climb around that hunk of shit. I can go in there and look for more food, but we’ll start looking at the power cells and computer systems once you’re not totally wrecked. Sound good?”

Phobos nodded. His eyelids were starting to droop, and he was resting his head to the side against one of the pillows. Meouch brought a hand up, hesitated… and then patted Phobos on the knee. He picked up the mug of water and the packet of food that had been left on the coffee table, half-consumed and forgotten, and eased it into Phobos’s hands, trading it for the book. He wanted to keep skimming.

As he gently flipped through the worn, crackly pages, Meouch was unsure if he should feel relieved or not. He finally knew how the hell Funk managed to wipe out a whole planet, but it was still his fault that the strong Funk he’d been smuggling went bad in the first place. Over 99% of the population had still been killed. But at least… now he knew why. Because he’d been a negligent, forgetful piece of shit.

And Phobos… Well, he still didn’t think he would call Phobos a  _ friend,  _ per say, but the fact that the guy was willing to let go of a grudge and even  _ laugh _ with him was a good start. A really good start, actually. Phobos had said before that he never particularly wanted to kill Meouch, even in the beginning. He just felt like he  _ had  _ to. It was entirely possible that he was just as happy to forgive as Meouch was to be forgiven.

They still had their differences to work through, and Phobos was right--Meouch really knew almost nothing about him when it came right down to it--but they were on the same side now. They were on the same page. They could work with this, hopefully. For both of their sakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Give me Novocaine" by Green Day.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Have a lovely weekend, and don't forget to comment with your favorite part :)


	14. dymaxion chronofile

The sun was just starting to set, bathing the living room of the abandoned house in warm light through the broken windows, and Phobos sat curled up in the corner of the couch with a warm mug of water in his hands. His home planet never got dark this fast. Well, with three suns, it never got that dark at all. He’d been on planets with nighttime before, so it wasn’t like a whole new thing to him, but still. It got dark surprisingly quick, here.

He and Meouch had been sitting in silence for a while now. There wasn’t much they could do or talk about that didn’t remind them of the shitty situation they were in. They were both too tired and emotionally drained to make any plans for surviving, so that would have to wait. Any talk of life  _ before _ just reminded them that things were different now. There was a before-Funk and an after-Funk, and talking about either just reminded them of what Funk did to them. A simple question like “what’s your favorite movie” just reminded them that their old  _ normal _ was gone forever. Ask about parents, siblings, families? That was even worse. Talk about the planet they’re stuck on? A no-go. Every subject was a touchy one.

Well, every subject except one.

“... So, that Doctor Sung guy. What do you think he’s got under that cone?” Meouch asked after what felt like hours of just walking on eggshells. He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, fiddling with an unlit cigarette in his fingers. “Is he like, a pinhead or something?”

Phobos thought for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. He wished it was something that would help his throat, but even just the act of swallowing hurt. He held the mug between his knees and picked up the journal again.  _ Maybe it makes him feel taller,  _ he wrote.

Meouch leaned over to read, and he snickered, puffing air through his nose. “Maybe he’s hiding his bedhead.”

_ Maybe he keeps snacks in there. _

“Oh shit, hidden snack stash? I mean, he’s got the room. Guy could stick a whole fuckin’ sandwich in there.”

_ I just wonder why he kept his face hidden like that the whole time, _ Phobos wrote, remembering back to only two days ago.  _ Actually, I wonder why he lied to us at all. Why tell me you were dead when you were still on the ship? _

“Yeah, Hogan told me the same thing about you. I dunno.” Meouch bounced the cigarette between his fingers, his hands still jittery. His hands had been shaky since their fight on the asteroid, hadn’t they? “Hell, to be fair, if I knew you were on the ship with me, I would’a just hunted you down. They probably figured that lying to us would buy them some time. Let ‘em ask questions, assess the situation. Something like that, maybe.”

Phobos shrugged. It made sense, he supposed. He himself only calmed down and started listening to Sung after he’d been convinced that Meouch was dead. But still, Sung had lied, and hidden his face,  _ and  _ apparently had a time crystal aboard his ship. The man had an awful lot of secrets--not just concerning what kind of snacks he kept in his helmet.

“Weird. The whole situation, s’just… fuckin’ weird,” Meouch mumbled, shaking his head. “Don’t even know what those assholes wanted from us in the first place. I dunno if we’ll ever know, now.” He stuck the cigarette he was holding in between his lips, and reached in his vest for his lighter, probably just out of habit. Phobos cleared his throat, and that seemed to bring him to his senses.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll, uh… I’ll take this outside,” he said, tucking the lighter away again. “I’m used to bein’ on my own and shit, so I… Y’know. Whatever. Um…” Meouch stood up and took a sweeping glance across the room, taking stock. They were running low on firewood, and they didn’t exactly have much in terms of supplies to begin with. “I should go get some more food, too. See if there’s any more lying around in that ship. We probably should’a rationed those packets, but… Actually no, that would’ve been a bad idea. Anyway, will you be okay if I step out for a while?”

When Phobos nodded, Meouch stared blankly for a moment before turning towards the door, almost like he was lost. “If you need help or anything, just holler,” he mumbled as he reached for the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder. “I’m serious. I know you got that vow of silence and all, but if you start… I dunno, like, dyin’ or whatever… fuckin’ start yelling. ‘Kay?”

Phobos blinked as he felt his mouth go dry. He nodded again, the movement merely mechanical, but it seemed to be good enough for Meouch. He stepped out into the night, shutting the door again behind him.

The vow of silence. Dammit. Phobos laid back, resting his head on the arm of the couch as he stared up at the pockmarked ceiling, its cracks and imperfections casting faint shadows in the light of the fire. Yell if he was dying. He could do that. Couldn’t he? He tried to groan, just to hear his own voice, but his throat closed up and he didn’t make a sound. He had moaned and groaned before, so it was  _ fine, _ but he was psyching himself out so hard, he was scared to even do that.

He had taken the vow of silence as sort of an add-on to his vow to kill Meouch. He never intended for it to be permanent. But if he vowed to never speak again until Meouch was dead, and if he wasn’t going to kill Meouch now… would he just never talk again? Or at least, he’d remain silent for however many hundreds of years until Meouch died on his own? Could he  _ do _ that? Could he live his life like that?

Or should he just… break it?

Once the thought passed through his mind, it cycled around, again and again, until he was painfully aware of his mouth and his teeth and the position of his tongue and the sound of his breath. He clenched his jaw tight. There was nothing saying he had to keep the vow. Just his word. The only ones who even knew he’d taken the vow so far were Meouch and Sung, and probably Havve Hogan if Sung decided to tell him, and none of them seemed the type to hold him particularly accountable to that promise. Not to mention the fact that Sung and Havve were, what, 200 years in the past? He was probably never going to see them again anyway. If he spoke, the only people he’d be letting down would be himself and his family, and his family were all dead.

He’d already broken one promise. He wasn’t going to kill Meouch. What if he decided to just start talking again? What was one more broken vow?

Phobos sighed, feeling the air rattle and groan through his chest. No, he wasn’t going to do that. He had to honor them somehow. Funk had plunged his world into silence, so he wasn’t it only fair that he be silent, too? At least when it came to talking, anyway. Laughing and crying and whatnot were still on the table. He couldn’t help that. But... he could go without speaking. For them, at least. For his parents, and for Deimos, and for everyone else he knew and loved that would never speak again. He could do it for them.

And… yes, he decided. He could yell if he was in trouble. It was what his folks would’ve wanted him to do.

Resolve solidifying in his chest, he sat back up slowly, pushing through despite the pain and the effort it took. Keeping a vow of silence wasn’t going to be easy. Surviving and getting off this planet wasn’t going to be easy. Hell, surviving with  _ Meouch  _ probably wasn’t going to be easy, even if he was slowly starting to warm up to the guy. But he was going to do it. He was going to survive this, dammit.

He was tired of lying around and being taken care of, he wanted to at least do  _ something,  _ just to prove to himself that he could. He swung his legs off the side of the couch, and squeezed his eyes shut as the blaster wound in his thigh complained at him. It was a few days old at this point, and he had been able to shuffle around on it yesterday without it hurting too bad, but it still hurt. Sleeping in the snow had probably only exacerbated it. After a moment, the pain subsided, and Phobos was able to slowly shimmy his way off the too-large couch.

That was a mistake. He hissed through clenched teeth as he slid off the cushion and his feet hit the floor, pain rocketing up his leg and into his hip. He felt dizzy. The sharp inhale sent him into a coughing fit, each cough practically crunching through his lungs, and he almost fell back into the couch. His bruised rib sent little flares of heat through his chest like cracks in a pane of glass.

When the coughing subsided and the chain reaction fizzled out, Phobos kept still, half-collapsed into the old lichen-crusted sofa, his lungs and his chest and his leg and his head all pounding in unison. He tried to take steady breaths in through his nose, but they were shaky and segmented and gummed up with snot. His head was swimming, and the whole room felt like it was moving.

He gulped, forcing himself to swallow past his burning throat. This was bad. He was  _ sick  _ sick, wasn’t he? He’d been in rough shape for a while, what with the poor sleeping and eating habits before he even got stranded here, but… This could be really bad. He was stuck in the ruins of a long-dead planet where usable supplies were extremely limited. Any medicine that was here was probably well past expired, and would probably do more harm than good.

Phobos hadn’t thought his condition had been that bad, but he was pretty wrecked. There was no way he could move around and be useful right now, no matter how much he wanted to. As much as it sucked… he was going to need a lot more rest.

He was going to need Meouch.

God. If someone had told him that a week ago, he wouldn’t have believed it for a second. It was crazy how much could happen in just a few days. Hell, just a month ago, he was home, and his life was still normal. Well, as normal as the life of a nobleman could be, anyway. He really should stop being so surprised.

Phobos took his time and eased himself back up onto the couch, careful not to hurt anything or to spark another fit of coughs. As much as he wanted to get up and move around and distract himself, he just couldn’t. He burrowed back into his stale blankets and pillows, feeling exhausted, and he curled up as much as his battered body would allow. His feet were sticking out, his hair was in his face, and half of the blankets were hanging down onto the floor, but he didn’t care. The rattling wheezes that passed through his lips slowed, and his eyes eventually drifted shut, his body too drained to stay awake any longer.

When he awoke hours later after a dream he couldn’t remember, his hair was pulled back from his face, his blankets were piled securely on top of him, and Meouch was asleep at the foot of the couch, sitting up with his knees to his chest and his lead lolled to the side, resting on the couch’s backrest. The fire in the fireplace, reinvigorated at some point, kept the room warm, and Phobos’s blankets felt heavier than they had before, and after only a minute, he had drifted off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Dymaxion Chronofile" by Driftless Pony Club.
> 
> Hope all you Americans had a nice Thanksgiving yesterday and are staying safe! Thank you so much for reading. Don't forget to leave a comment with your thoughts! Comments really do brighten up my day. Have a good week everyone!


	15. when the morning comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they're gonna be here for a while, they might as well do something about their living situation.

Meouch grumbled to himself as he sat cross legged on the couch, their home base within their home base at that point, and he stared out at the broken window in the slanted wall. Snow was gently falling in and collecting in a pile on the floor. He’d gathered plenty of firewood while he had been out scouting around yesterday evening, so the fire in the fireplace was blazing and hot, but there was enough snow that it was still sticking to the ground and piling up on the furniture. Occasionally the wind howled outside, making the old dilapidated house creak. The tree branches outside were silent, too heavy with snow to move, and Meouch could only hope that one didn’t come down on the roof on top of them.

Phobos had been in and out of it all morning. He would wake up, shift under the blankets, grumble something in the back of his throat until he remembered he wasn’t supposed to, and then fell back asleep. He got up at one point to stumble to the restroom (it was more like a fucking chamberpot, but Meouch refused to verbally acknowledge its presence. They did not talk about the Shit Pot) and then he washed his hands in their crummy old bucket, and that was about it. He clearly felt like shit, and Meouch felt bad for him. If only there were something he could do to actually help.

He sighed and took a sip of his plain, lame hot water. God, he would kill for some coffee. Humans didn’t have much figured out, but they sure were good at the whole food and drink thing. He was getting pretty sick of hot water and rehydrated meat-and-vegetable-in-sauce. 

A gust of wind made the snow fall with a bit more vigor, and a flake flew across the room and landed on Meouch’s nose. He sniffed, scrunching up his face. “Gotta fix that damn hole,” he muttered, glaring up at the gray sky and the tree branches outside the window.

He could hear a groan from the other end of the couch, and the blankets shifted. Phobos poked his head out, his tangled hair sticking up in places and his nose tinted red. Even though he’d done little but sleep since before Meouch got back to the house last night, he had bags under all four of his eyes and still looked wiped.

“Mornin’. Again,” Meouch said, nodding in greeting.

Phobos mumbled something in response, something sounded like “Morning” before he stopped himself halfway. He breathed a snotty breath in through his nose and then gave a little wave.

“It’s okay, you’ll get used to it,” Meouch said, low and quiet. “I imagine a vow of silence can’t be easy. You, uh… feelin’ okay?”

Phobos sniffled again and coughed into his blankets.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

The wind picked up again, spraying snow at them and making the fire shimmer and shake. Phobos pulled the blanket back up over his head and curled up onto his side. Meouch shivered and held his warm mug a little tighter.

“Yeah, I gotta patch that,” he said. “Ain’t no way I’m going out to the ship in this fuckin’ weather. You already gotta crawl on the ground to get in there, and I don’t wanna get fuckin’ snowed in that thing.” Honestly, spending a day inside sounded fine to him. The less time he had to spend alone in that creepy-ass ship, the better.

The house, as it stood, was about a step and a half up from living in a cave. It kept most of the weather out, but it was still drafty, dirty, and covered in vegetation inside and out. None of the furniture was remotely clean, and Meouch had avoided searching through the cabinets and drawers any more than was necessary, just because he had no idea what kind of stuff he might find. As an emergency shelter, the house was fine, but… if they were going to be there a while…

“I could probably clean this place up a bit,” Meouch mused as he took a glance around the room. There were old belongings and debris scattered everywhere, and the floor wasn’t a  _ floor _ so much as it was mud, dirt, and snow. “We don’t know how long we might be stuck here. A, uh… less temporary camp would probably be a good idea.”

Phobos’s hand poked out from under the covers and clumsily searched around, patting the couch and nearby coffee table in search of his book. He found it, slowly dragged it back under the blankets with him, and wiggled and shuffled as he tried to write while curled up in the dark. Meouch smirked. That was one concrete thing he knew about Phobos--he was a dramatic little shit. He wrote for only a moment, and then his hand reappeared, holding the book out to Meouch with the pencil acting as a bookmark. Meouch flipped open the book, immediately spotting the sleepy, barely-legible handwriting under the previous day’s neater words.  _ I like the dirt, _ Phobos wrote, seemingly almost proud of the fact.

“You  _ like _ the dirt?” Meouch asked, sarcasm in his voice and a smile on his lips. “Fancy boy likes science  _ and  _ dirt? Now I’ve seen everything.” He nudged the journal back into Phobos’s waiting hand, and Phobos flipped the blankets off and away from his face. Even being dramatic had its limits.

_ My house was so clean and pristine and stuffy that it practically felt sterile, _ he wrote, still lying down on his side and resting the book down by his head.  _ The mess is a refreshing change. Though…  _ He picked his head up for a second and glanced about the living room, ravaged by time and nature.  _ Yeah okay, this is a bit much. _

Meouch read and couldn’t help but chuckle. At least Phobos wasn’t a total rich snob. This, he could work with. “Yeah, no, this is pretty shitty. My third-hand junker pod ship was nicer than this joint, and that thing smelled like beer and cigarettes before I even got it. Yeah, this place could use some work.” He finished off the rest of his water and set the empty mug down on the table. Standing up, he stretched and reached his hands up to the ceiling until he could feel his back crackle and pop. “Not like there’s anything else to do around here, anyway. Might as well do some fuckin’ spring cleaning.”

_ I thought spring was supposed to be warm? We didn’t really get seasons back home, _ Phobos wrote. He sat up a little bit, still leaning his head back on the arm of the couch, and yawned.

He passed the book off to Meouch, whose eyebrows went up as he read. “No seasons? Just fuckin’ warm year-round? Damn, nice.” He passed it back again, and they kept going back and forth.

_ No seasons, and no real night. Just dusk. 3 suns. Made losing track of time really easy. Compared to here? The days blurred together a lot. _

“Huh. Like a planet-sized casino. Yeah, that’s trippy. How’s the cold and dark treatin’ you?”

A shake of the head and a thumbs down.

“Yeah, I hear that. Fuck the cold, man.” Meouch shook his head. “And that’s why  _ that _ mother fucker,” he pointed to the broken window and the snow falling through it, “has got to go.”

Meouch cracked his knuckles, shook out his cold hands, and got to work while Phobos, warm under his blankets, curled up and settled in to either watch or fall back asleep. Inspecting the hole in the wall closer up, it was almost as wide across as Meouch’s arm span, and six feet off the ground. The slope of the conical house’s walls meant that the broken window was at an angle. Meouch could see no evidence of a glass pane having been there, but he supposed if the people who lived there didn’t have eyes, they wouldn’t exactly need to see out. They just would’ve had to open the windows for fresh air.

He just needed to find something to patch the hole with. Meouch started scouring the house for supplies, looking for anything that could be useful. It was hard to see anything through the dust and grime that covered the floors and lined the drawers, but at least his night vision helped him see in the other rooms of the house, which were extremely dark. He found himself searching for light switches, even though he knew there were no lights, and that even if there were, they wouldn’t work.

After scrambling around in the dark for a bit, prying open stuck drawers and rusty cabinets, Meouch clambered back into the living room with a handful of old nails, an old, thin sheet, and tucked under his arm, half the kitchen table. It had totally fallen apart, the legs completely separate from the rest of it, and had cracked in two. It was a bit thick and unwieldy for repair work, but it was made of wood and was around the right size, so it would have to do.

While Meouch had been hunting around in the other rooms, Phobos had gotten up. He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, stirring another packet of dehydrated food. They had a pretty decent stockpile since Meouch had found a ton of them stowed away in the belly of the ship, and unfortunately, they were all the same flavor. He himself had choked one down that morning.

Meouch set his stuff down on the floor and pulled an arm chair over to the broken window. He climbed up on it, wary of how dangerously it creaked, and poked his head out the hole and into the snowy winter outside. Yep, it was fucking cold out. The wind and snow blew into his eyes, and he quickly ducked back inside. The roof was completely covered in several inches of snow, so he was going to have to clear some of it off if he wanted to get the patch on there. He sighed.

“Hey man,” he said, turning to look at Phobos, who blinked up at him with his mouth full of food. “If you can, I’m gonna need some help in a little bit. This is gonna be a bitch and a half to do solo.”

Phobos nodded and then shrugged, probably unsure of the help he’d be able to offer. He was willing to try, at least. That was good. Meouch’d had a little nugget of worry in the pit of his stomach ever since yesterday; worried that even though they’d had a heart to heart and had come to a mutual understanding, that Phobos was still going to refuse to work together with him. He knew it was an unbased assumption, but part of him was still expecting their truce to go up in smoke at any moment.

Meouch leaned out the slanted hole again and started pushing away snow with his hands, the cold sensation shooting up to his shoulders and making his teeth chatter. All the while, he kept thinking about Phobos, felt him staring at his back as he worked, now that the train of thought had surfaced in his mind.

He didn’t think Phobos still hated him, since they were joking around and shit now, but there was still the possibility. Hell, did it even matter? Sure, it sucked being alone on a planet with someone who hated your guts. It sucked being alone on a smuggling ship for weeks at a time, with absolutely no one to talk to, but Meouch was just fine with that. It sucked getting kicked off of every crew he’d ever been on, or forced to quit and run away because the people were that shitty, but he’d been fine. It sucked that every time he’d ever opened up to someone, he’d eventually found himself alone again. But he’d been  _ fine. _

So what if Phobos still hated him? Once they got off this planet, they would never have to see each other again. Meouch could go back to being by himself, and doing things alone. And that was fine by him.

He cleared off the rest of the snow from around the hole with an angry huff, and lowered himself back inside. He furiously shook the snow out of his mane, and when he was done, he looked up to see Phobos there, standing next to Meouch’s chair, holding onto the back of it for support. Meouch stopped. He blinked and took a mental step back. How long had Phobos been there?

Phobos made a wobbly thumbs up, thumbs down gesture, the universal sign for  _ everything okay? _

Meouch found himself nodding. “No, yeah, should be all good. The window is… yeah. Good. Thanks,” he said, starting off strong and then ending on a mumble. He rubbed his hands up and down on his thighs to try and warm them up.

Phobos was here. Phobos was willing to help even if he was still sick and tired. Phobos had helped him yesterday, when he was bawling his eyes out (just yesterday? It felt like ages ago). Phobos, despite everything that Meouch had done to him, said he forgave him. He seemed like he understood.

Damn _.  _ He’d really let his thoughts get away from him. Did his loner lifestyle really leave him that messed up?

He accepted Phobos’s help with the rest of the project, having supplies passed up to him and the chair he was standing on held steady. When it came time to start patching up the hole, Phobos took a loose stone from the crumbling section of mantle, and handed it to Meouch to use as a hammer. They both stood on the chair, each one with a foot on the cushion and a foot on each arm, and Phobos held the bits of kitchen table steady as Meouch slammed rusty nails through them with the mossy, soot-stained rock.

A few boards in, Meouch slipped with the rock and scraped one of his fingers. “Better not get fuckin’ tetanus,” he said to himself. “I quit my smuggling job, I ain’t got fuckin’ health insurance.”

Phobos laughed next to him, snorting through his nose. Meouch, not forgetting that Phobos was there but sort of forgetting that he could hear him, was surprised for a moment before he chuckled as well.

When the job was done, and the pieces of the kitchen table were decently affixed to the roof, it was… okay. There were still plenty of holes and cracks, and the occasional snowflake trickled in, but it was still leagues better than just an open, gaping hole in the structure. Meouch and Phobos took the old sheet, dirty and too worn to be of much use elsewhere, and pinned it up to loosely fill in the gaps and to keep out some of the draft.

“Hey, not bad,” Meouch said as he climbed off the chair. The sounds of the wind outside had faded a bit, and while there was still a pile of snow under the window, it at least wasn’t getting any bigger.

Phobos struggled to get back down onto the floor, his weakened legs shaking as he lowered himself back down, bit by bit. He sat down in the arm chair, looking exhausted, but… satisfied. His hair was a mess from the wind, and his shoulders sagged, but his white eyes were bright. He rubbed his hands together, both warming them up and massaging the dirt into his knuckles.

While Phobos rested and took a breather, Meouch swept the snow out the front door, sending some of the dirt and moss with it. There was still debris littering the floor and clinging to the walls, and Meouch set about throwing that out while Phobos sat down and started rummaging through cabinets, looking for anything of use. With the cold weather and lack of insects, a lot had survived the years of neglect. There were some boots, several sizes too big for either of them; some bottles that were broken and empty; electronics that had long since gone dead.

Most interesting was the box of candles Phobos uncovered in one of the built-in shelves that sloped with the walls. These people would have had no use for candles as a light source, but popping the top off one quickly revealed its intended purpose: they were scented to hell and back. Meouch could smell them from across the room, and Phobos had to pick and choose the least-sscented ones to keep out. It was probably a good thing they were over a century old. Meouch didn’t want to imagine how pungent they were when they were fresh.

They stopped for lunch (“What shall we have today?” Meouch deadpanned. “How ‘bout some fuckin’, uhhhh, veg-meat-sauce?”), and in between bites, they organized their supplies and got everything into neat piles. It was hard work, but it was nice to have something to keep their hands busy and their minds occupied. Phobos especially, after spending two days in bed, seemed happy to be up and moving and doing something productive.

Meouch scrubbed in rhythm, wiping down the table with some soaked scraps of fabric, and a few minutes in, he realized he had been humming. He paused. Phobos’s people had been music-averse, from what he’d heard, and the guy’s planet had been ravaged by Funk. And there Meouch was, humming right in front of him like an idiot.

He glanced up at Phobos, whose head was mid-bob. Wait... had he been enjoying it?

Phobos shot him a confused look. Meouch fake-sneezed, cleared his throat, and started humming again. Phobos’s head started bouncing once more, and he went back to cleaning.

Huh. Meouch really needed to stop making assumptions. He hummed a little louder from there on out, and let his foot tap along to the music in his head.

By the time evening rolled around, the house felt lighter, fresher, and more comfortable, even if it was still structurally in rough shape. They had lit the candles, which provided a good amount of light in conjunction with the fire in the fireplace. The firewood and food packets were in neat stacks, the furniture had been pushed closer to the fire, and Meouch could actually see the floor in spots. Phobos was sprawled out on the oversized couch, limbs askew, looking exhausted. He seemed like he was about to fall asleep, but he was smiling, and his green-and-peach skin looked less pale than it had that morning. It was amazing what some spring cleaning could do.

Meouch actually felt a lot better, too. It helped to have a warmer and cleaner base of operations, but it also felt nice to just… work together with someone. It helped quell the anxious worry in the back of his mind, and even though Phobos couldn’t talk, he made the abandoned planet feel a little bit less lonely. Maybe things were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "This Too Shall Pass" by OK Go.
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter! Have a good weekend yall :)


	16. leave me in the bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch and Phobos venture into the old ship to find some answers they were looking for and some that they weren't.

The next morning was bright and sunny, a stark contrast to the snow storm from yesterday, and Phobos felt… good. Not great, but good. He still had to limp a few steps whenever he got up to walk, and he was still sneezing up a storm, but his sore throat had calmed down and his stomach was no longer in a perpetual loop-de-loop. He smiled at the dirt stuck under his fingernails. Just getting up and  _ doing _ something yesterday helped a lot. He hated feeling cooped up for so long, just stuck in bed, unable to go anywhere. 

With the weather cleared up, and the house (and Phobos) in better condition, he and Meouch decided it was time to start checking out the ship in earnest--or at least, dig out a path to get inside. The snow on the ground was over a foot thick, and there were branches that had come down during the storm littering the street. The houses and yards, or what remained of them, were completely blanketed, and it made it hard to tell where one started and one ended, especially with the irregularities of plant growth that had overtaken all of it. The wind chimes that weren’t frozen into icicles jangled and sang on every porch, mingling with the crunching of their footsteps and Meouch’s bitching about the cold. The entrance to the ship required some excavation, and Meouch moaned about the snow the whole time, talking enough for both of them. Phobos gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his own quiet way of complaining. They didn’t have much to shovel with except their hands, and it was cold, slow work. By the time they managed to dig a hole big enough to crawl through, Phobos’s hands were like ice.

Once they were both inside, they took a minute to huddle up in the cargo bay, rubbing their hands and blowing hot air into them, cupped up against their mouths and noses. It was almost pitch black inside, and Phobos couldn’t see a thing aside from the little sliver of light from the hole in the hull and the tunnel through the snow. He couldn’t hear any of the windchimes. It reminded him, fittingly, of the weeks he spent holed up in his ship, chasing after Meouch, alone in the dark and quiet. He shuddered.

Luckily, they had brought some of the heavily-scented candles from the house, and once their hands were warm enough to function, they used Meouch’s lighter to light them up. The candles, one for each of them, did a better job at illuminating the room than Phobos thought they would. Not that there was much to see: just a cavernous cargo bay filled with shattered Funk canisters and debris from the crash. Phobos’s jaw clenched up. He motioned for Meouch to take the lead, and he followed him deeper into the ship. The sooner they could get out of there, the better.

The engine room and the power cells weren't far from the cargo bay, but there was a lot of debris and broken floor to get through in order to get there. Holding lit candles wasn't helping things any, and Phobos nearly burned himself a couple of times trying to hold his in the crook of his arm. He couldn't see fantastically well in the dark, but with the candlelight, he could at least see things that were right in front of him, so he could tell where to put his feet and when he needed to duck his head. Meouch, able to see everything around them decently well, was able to call out obstacles in advance. Since nodding in the dark wasn't exactly practical, Phobos took to sniffling loudly in lieu of an affirmation.

It was a relief when they got to the engine room and took a breather. Phobos's breathing was shallow, his injured rib protesting the hike through the tilted ship, and Meouch wasn’t looking too hot, either. It seemed like the ship was giving Meouch the jitters, too. The engine room was big, twice as big as the living room they were camping out in, and at least half of it was taken up by the giant engine block. The engine was bigger than Meouch’s whole pod ship, and Phobos could only imagine what kind of warp speed this thing had been capable of.

The energy core that had once powered the ship lay dormant, and the fuel tanks had been destroyed in the crash. The ship’s power cells lined one wall, and half of them were buried in debris from the collapsed ceiling. The room was filled with pipes, tubes, and wires, stretching from the ground to the ceiling and wall to wall. Everything was covered in over a century’s worth of grime and dust, and it was safe to say that most of the moving parts in this room would never move again.

Phobos stumbled around the room, eyes wide as he tried to take everything in. He’d been in a few engine rooms before, mostly for the sake of his rocketeering studies back home, but those had all been pristine and expertly crafted. The mechanisms in here were cobbled together, broken and repaired several times, and then all broken again in the crash. It was an entirely different beast than what he was used to.

He turned around, and atop the pile of rubble behind him, was a more familiar yet no less distressing sight: a skeleton lying on top of the debris.

He let out a hoarse yelp when he saw it. He jerked back and almost dropped the candle, but managed to catch it before it fell.

Meouch jumped once at Phobos’s outburst, and again when he saw what caused it. “Oh fuck!” he gasped. “Has that motherfucker been here the whole time? Shit!”

The skeleton was wedged between some slabs of metal and machinery, pressed up against the wall, and it was easy to understand how Meouch had missed it when he was in here earlier with nothing lighting up the room except his tiny lighter. Phobos took a step forward to inspect it, holding his candle out and trying to swallow his heart, which had climbed up into his throat. The skeleton was humanoid, something with horns and a tail, and was almost entirely intact, the bones protected by the cold and lack of weather in the belly of the ship. It had a broken arm, wrapped up in a fragile-looking makeshift sling. Phobos motioned to Meouch by pointing at his own arm, and then making a breaking gesture.

“Broken arm? Like the guy from the journal?” Meouch asked. When Phobos nodded, he breathed in sharply through his nose. He took a few steps closer. “Son of a bitch… Like, I’m not scared of dead things, but… Damn man, I didn’t know it was  _ here. _ Fuckin’ freaky.” He held up his candle to get a better look, and his eyes shone bright even in the dim light. He sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that’s a smuggler all right. You can tell from all the… leather, and belts, and pouches n’ stuff. Standard space outlaw shit…”

Phobos nodded. Well, he guessed that answered the question of what happened to their journaling survivor. They lived through the Funk explosion, lived through the ship crashing, only to die in the engine room under some debris. He shuddered. He disliked being in the old ship more and more every second.

Meouch gave a lazy salute, from one smuggler to another. “Well, I ain’t gonna touch ‘em, and we still got work to do in here. Guess we just have to live with it. Fuck, that freaked me out though. I’m gonna sit,” he muttered, taking his candle and plopping himself down at the base of the pile of rubble.

Phobos stayed and looked at the skeleton a little bit more. He didn’t move or try to glean anything else from it--he just looked, unable to take his eyes off it. Man, he couldn’t wait to get off this planet and not think about death for a while. After a couple of minutes, he shuffled down and joined Meouch, sitting cross-legged next to him.

"You okay?" Meouch asked.

Phobos thought about it for a second, and then nodded. He was okay, for now at least. No telling how he would feel later that night when he was trying to sleep. He pointed at Meouch, and then asked with a thumbs up or a thumbs down.

Meouch made a so-so hand. "Skeleton-wise, I think I’m okay. Otherwise, I have a headache. Kinda wish I’d had a cigarette while we were outside, but it’s a little late for that now." He sighed and rested his head in his hand. “I guess we gotta get to work, huh?”

They both looked at the imposing machinery in front of them, reaching up to the ceiling and covered in grime and cobwebs. The engines were dark, details hidden amongst the shadows, dancing in the flickering light of their three-wick scented candles. Phobos looked up at it all with a twisty-turny feeling in his stomach, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed together. He took a deep breath, set his mouth in a line, and pulled his hair up, using a few loose strands to tie up the rest.

"You ever dug around in engine rooms like this before?" Meouch asked, keeping his voice low, almost as if speaking too loudly would wake the ancient machinery and the dead smuggler from the grave.

Phobos pulled out his book from where he had it tucked into his belt, and set it on the floor so he could write with the light of the candle. Meouch brought his own candle down to help provide more light.  _ Not quite like this. I’m used to ships that are more… functional. Even so, I dealt more in design and R&D than in, like, physical repairs. I'm not sure where to start. _

"Ah, don't worry about it," Meouch said, giving his arm a gentle nudge. "I practically grew up in the engine rooms of ships like this. Sure, some of this tech is a little different from what I’m used to, but I can still tell what's what. If I show you what everything is and how it's all supposed to be connected, you think you can figure out how to hook the power up?"

Phobos hesitated for a second, then two.  _ I think so. I've never had to apply my knowledge practically like this before. We're just dealing with the power cells, right? _

"Yeah, and the solars hooked up to the escape pods. We're gonna have to detach those, drag them outside, and run cables so they can connect back to the power cells in here. First though, we need to figure out which cells, if any, will be able to hold a charge."

A thumbs up.  _ When you put it like that, it's not that big of a deal. _

"Sometimes you just gotta know what angle to tackle the problem from," Meouch shrugged. "When everything in a ship's going to shit, you just gotta break everything down into steps that are so fuckin' small, you can't fuck 'em up. Because if you fuck 'em up, you get the captain yelling at you, and... Ugh. Not exactly a fun time."

_ You really did spend a lot of time on ships like this, huh? _ Phobos asked.

"Oh, totally. If i wasn't working on a ship, I was on the street waiting for the next crew to come along and pick me up for a while. I wound up getting pretty good at repairing these damn things. I remember one ship I was on, there weren't enough bunks, so I slept up in there,” he said, pointing a lazy, wobbly finger up towards a series of crevices in the engine block. “Honestly, I lucked out. It was nice and warm in there, and I didn't have to share a room with anybody. Of course, the lack of privacy sucked, but y'know--"

Phobos stopped him, holding up a hand and shaking his head. He pointed to the same spot Meouch had just indicated, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, in there," Meouch said. "Or y'know, the equivalent of what that engine had. There's nothing bad coming out of those ports, just warm air. I was fine in there."

That made Phobos pause. His eyes were trained up on the engine block, and his pencil hovered over the page, unsure. Meouch was acting so nonchalant about this whole thing, but… no matter how okay he seemed with it, that had to have been a  _ shitty _ way to grow up. When he did eventually start to write, the letters came out slow and deliberate.  _ How young were you? _

“... Huh.” Meouch hadn’t been expecting that question. He actually had to think about it for a minute. “I think I was somewhere between ten and twenty? I’m 102, to give you some context. So I was pretty on the young side.”

Phobos covered his mouth with his empty hand, and his eyes were completely trained on Meouch. Ten years old and sleeping in an  _ engine exhaust port.  _ What the  _ fuck. _

“Can you… stop staring?” Meouch asked, choking out a small laugh. “It’s a little weird, not gonna lie.”

_ You were a child, _ Phobos wrote after he forced himself to avert his eyes.  _ You were a  _ _ child _ _ and you were doing all that? Hell, by my people’s standards, you’re STILL a child. I’m 1181. _

“Wh--holy  _ shit,  _ dude!” Meouch yelped. He was leaning in close enough to the notebook that the candles flickered a little bit. “Well damn, I’m sorry not every species ages as  _ gracefully _ as yours does,” he said with a smirk, quirking an eyebrow. “And yeah, I was a fuckin’ child. That’s what  _ growing up crawling around engines  _ means.”

_ What about your parents? _ Phobos asked. A second after Meouch read it, he scratched it out, scribbling harshly over the words with his pencil.  _ Sorry, that's probably really personal. I shouldn't _

"Nah, I don't give a fuck," Meouch shrugged, cutting him off mid-sentence. "There's not much to tell, since I barely remember 'em. They were a couple'a dicks. There were always too many kids, too many mouths to feed, and I was the smallest and the weakest. They couldn’t use me, so they sold me. I don't really remember much, 'cept I managed to get myself out of whatever the fuck situation they put me in and I wound up on the streets. Got picked up by a pirate crew after that, since I was small and good at picking locks and shit like that. I know that probably sounds like some edgy bullshit garbage, or whatever, but... I dunno. I never really dwelled on it much, I guess."

_ They fucking  _ _ sold _ _ you?? I'm gonna find them and kick their asses holy shit, _ Phobos wrote in a fury.  _ That's awful! What the fuck!! I can't even imagine... Having parents and siblings who just didn't care like that... god, if my parents or brother had ever tried anything like that... _

"Their asses aren't even worth scuffing up your boots for," Meouch said with a chuckle. "Me personally, I'd go with punching their teeth in, myself. Not that I really remember what they look like, so tracking them down would be a bitch and a half."

_ What're their names? _

"I dunno, Mom and Dad? Dude, this was practically a century ago, I don't fuckin' remember," he shrugged. "I can't even remember how many siblings I had. Honestly, I haven't even thought about them in years. For all intents and purposes, I was an only child."

_ That's... that's rough. That's really rough. I don't know what I would've done without my brother there, sometimes, _ Phobos wrote with a sigh.  _ Shit though, we really got off on a tangent, huh? _

"Whoa whoa, hang on," Meouch said. "Uh uh, you got me to spill my past, now it's your turn. What's with this brother I keep hearing so much about?"

Phobos shook his head, closed the book, and snatched it close to his chest. Nope, it wasn’t going to be  _ that _ easy. Even if he  _ was _ kind of leading Meouch on a bit with all the mentions of his family… He didn’t know if he was ready to talk about them just yet. Besides, they had work to do. He pointed up at the huge engine in front of them, and Meouch rolled his eyes.

“Wow, okay, rude,” he said with a smirk. “I only just spilled my whole life story to you, but yeah, let’s get to work. Okay.” He gave Phobos a nudge in the arm, and Phobos stood up and helped him to his feet. He dusted his legs off and picked up his candle. “But you owe me a brother story.” He held a hand out to shake.

Phobos nodded and shook, gripping his hand tight. It was only fair. They both looked up at the engine and the power cells towering over them and stretched their shoulders. It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Black Licorice" by Peach Pit.
> 
> Aw loooooook they're becoming friiieeennndddsss1 This conversation between them was a lot of fun to write. This chapter saw a lot of revisions but I do enjoy it. Don't forget to leave a comment if you liked it (i read every single one and they really help out a lot!) and have a great weekend!


	17. maybe it's not so bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch understands a little better what makes Phobos tick. They find something else aboard the ship that needs fixing.

Meouch wiped his hands off on his thighs, smearing his pants with grease and grime, and sighed. He was having a hard time opening up the front panels of some of the power cells. They were completely rusted shut, and his cold, shaky fingers just weren't cooperating. Phobos had gone to go find some tools, taking one of the candles with him. That was fine by Meouch. He already had a headache, and the strong smell from the candles was just making it worse. He considered blowing out the one that remained while he waited for Phobos to come back, but he really didn't want to be stuck in the engine room in total darkness with a dead smuggler.

He lit up a cigarette to combat the dull pain between his temples instead. He was going to run out of them soon at this rate. He was already smoking old halves. It helped his head the slightest bit, but what he really needed was some Funk. He didn’t  _ want  _ it, and he told himself he was  _ done _ with it, but the headache and the jitters and the dry, fuzzy taste in his mouth that wouldn’t go away were all directly tied to it. He craved it. Quitting all at once really wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, it turned out, but unfortunately, it was the only option he had.

He sighed, the smoke streaming out of his mouth and floating up into the darkness. He hated this place. Being alone in the ship, especially with a skeleton in his peripheral vision at all times, was giving him the heebie jeebies. He could practically  _ smell _ the Funk in the walls, feel the thumping of the bass...

“So,” Meouch said, glancing at the dead smuggler. He took the dwindling cigarette and stomped out the butt. “Phobos is taking a while. Think he’s all right?”

The smuggler, naturally, didn’t respond. Great. Now he was talking to dead people. This was a new high point for him. Surely, his mental health had never been better.

“I told him to yell if there’s trouble,” he said, “but I dunno if he’d actually do that. Maybe I ought to go looking for him.” Meouch surveyed the room, taking stock of the battered and broken machinery, all frozen and rusted in place. He sighed, his breath puffing up in front of him. It wasn’t like there was much he could do without tools.

He grabbed the candle and climbed out of the room, taking one last glance behind him to make sure the skeleton wasn’t moving. Between his nerves and the flickering candlelight, he kept getting spooked by it out of the corner of his eye, even though it was completely still. He set off into the rest of the ship, heading up into the crew’s quarters and keeping an ear out for any movement. Just in case.

He climbed through the corridors of the ship, focusing on keeping his candle steady so the melted wax didn’t drip out of the glass, looking around as quickly as he could while still trying to be at least semi-thorough in his search. He didn’t want to find another skeleton. Nope, not today, thank you.

Luckily, he didn’t come face to face with any more dead smugglers as he poked his head into the galley, a restroom, and the bunks. The ship wasn’t that big, all things considered, and the engine room took up a vast majority of the interior space. Smuggling ships had to be fast, after all, so they prioritized engines over quantity of crewmembers.

Meouch climbed his way through the ship, dodging and weaving around debris and plant growth, keeping an eye out for Phobos. He didn’t find him until he got all the way up to the captain’s quarters; there was a slight flicker of candlelight coming from the open doorway, and he poked his head in to look. 

The captain’s room was small and in rough shape, with all the furniture damaged or warped in some way. Broken pipes and wires dangled from the ceiling. Lichen crawled up the walls. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, dirt, and grime. And sitting in the middle of it all was Phobos, with his candle and a large black case at his feet, and an acoustic guitar in his lap.

Meouch blinked, raised his eyebrows, and then blinked again. “Phobos?”

Phobos dropped the guitar. It hit the ground, and Meouch flinched as his ears were assaulted by the sudden  _ bang _ . “Fuck!” Meouch yelled, just out of reflex, as Phobos scrambled to scoop up the horrendously out of tune instrument.

It made sense that there would be some instruments aboard the old ship. It had been owned by Funk smugglers, after all. Meouch could even believe that a nice enough guitar in a nice enough case could survive this long and still be somewhat playable. What he was having a harder time wrapping his head around was that Phobos, of all people, had found the damn thing and held it almost like he knew how to play it.

“I thought you were supposed to be looking for tools?” Meouch said with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe with his candle in his hand. “Y’know, I’d always heard your people were uh… not big music fans. That it kinda just went over everyone’s heads. But you...”

He stopped in the middle of his thought as Phobos started packing up the acoustic, laying it back in its case and quickly closing the lid. “Whoa, hey, what are you doing?” Meouch sputtered. Phobos didn’t look up at him. He just locked the guitar back up and stuffed it under the bed, almost like he was embarrassed to be seen with it.

Wait.  _ Was _ he?

Meouch moved to block the doorway before Phobos could slip away to go hide somewhere. “Whoa whoa whoa, slow down, bud,” he said, planting a hand on his hip. “What’re you all skittish for? It’s just a guitar. So you grew up in in a society full of people who didn’t give two shits about music. Granted, there was a pretty decent underground scene, but still. Doesn’t mean you have to--”

Phobos shook his head no, and Meouch blinked. Was that not it? Dammit, there he went, making assumptions again. To be fair, it was hard when Phobos couldn’t just tell him this shit himself. He kind of had to make guesses.

Meouch huffed. “Okay, well, you gonna tell me what’s up? Are you a guitar guy or something? I told you my shitty upbringing, so now it’s your turn to spill some of your life story.”

Phobos frowned, and made a show out of pulling his journal and pencil from his belt. He had to crouch down next to his candle on the floor to see what he was writing, but he wrote quick.  _ I haven’t played since before my people died. Feels wrong. _

“Oh shit. So you  _ are _ a guitar guy,” Meouch said, his eyes going wide. Phobos was always full of surprises. A lord of his people, one of the last survivors of an apocalypse, a philosophical rocketeer… and a musician. Especially since he grew up in a culture that wasn’t particularly music-inclined, that came as a bit of a shock. There was a reason why Meouch had to smuggle Funk in.

“I mean… I can’t really blame you for feeling uncomfortable. After what you’ve been through…” Meouch huffed and rubbed a hand over his muzzle. “Playing guitar in a crashed Funk ship is probably pretty awkward.”

_ It’s also… I don’t know. Embarrassing? I guess. Whatever. _

“Oh?”

Phobos, knee bouncing, ears twitching, kept writing. He knew he didn’t have to answer, but he was kind of on a roll now. His little secret was out, and if there was any time he was going to talk about this stuff, it might as well be now.  _ No one’s ever heard me play before except Deimos and it’s weird! I didn’t know shit about the “underground music scene” or whatever! I was too entrenched in the circles of upper nobility! I mean, I knew there  _ _ was _ _ an underground music scene, because who else would you have been smuggling Funk to, but… I don’t know. Guitar was always… private. Something to keep on the DL. Because if the other noble families found out, holy fucking shit, the would’ve pestered me about it every fucking chance they got. _

“Ooohhh,” Meouch murmured as he read. He sat down across from Phobos, the book between them, and he nodded. “So you didn’t jive with the royal assholes, huh? They weren’t fans of music and science and whatever?”

Phobos sighed.  _ Yeah, I guess. I mean… I never really thought of them as assholes, but they absolutely could’ve been if I’d let them. Which I guess means they  _ _ were _ _ assholes? I don’t know. But yeah. They respected science, but they didn’t think learning about ships and the cosmos was  _ _ my _ _ job. They wanted me to focus on governing. And they absolutely didn’t give two shits about music. I just played for me. I just played for fun. And it feels weird now, because… You know, how dare I have fun and play guitar when they’re all gone? That kind of thing. _

Meouch shook his head. “That’s the survivor’s guilt talkin’, man. Don’t let it get to ya. Especially if they were assholes while they were alive.”

_ They were, but... my family wasn’t. My parents and my brother… They supported me, and wanted me to be happy. _

“Exactly! So why shouldn’t you treat yourself to a little happiness right now?” Meouch smiled. He pulled the guitar case back out from under the bed, bringing a new wave of dust with it. They both sneezed, and Meouch took a moment to sniffle and wave the dust out of the air. “I can leave if you want privacy, but… I dunno. I didn’t know your folks, and I don’t wanna speak for ‘em or anything, but I think they would want you to do what makes you happy.” He shrugged and bared his teeth in a sarcastic grin. “Least, that’s what I hear families are supposed to do. I wouldn’t really know.”

Meouch prefered not to think about family whenever possible. His own family were a bunch of backstabbing dicks, and listening to other people talk about their families was always a huge pain in the ass. But if it would get Phobos to stop moping, he’d put up with it. Phobs shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty when all of this was Meouch’s fault.

Phobos sat there for a moment, mulling it over as he fiddled with the pencil in his hand. Meouch noticed his other hand fidget as well, as his index and ring fingers ran through the pentatonic scale. The guy knew how to play, all right. And if he didn’t even realize he was fidgeting like that, then it was  _ in _ him, deep down. Lord Phobos, his former nemesis, the guy whose presence was one of the things that kept him up at night, was a musician, just like he was.

_ They  _ _ would _ _ want me to be happy,  _ Phobos wrote.  _ I mean, duh, makes sense, but… it hits different to hear it spelled out like that.  _ He played absentmindedly with the hair that hung down in front of his face, and he looked at the guitar case, now resting next to his knee.  _ Thanks. _

“‘Course,” Meouch said, shrugging one shoulder. He looked back down at the journal, skimming through their conversation. There had been a name that caught his eye. “So is Deimos your brother?”

Phobos’s fidgeting stopped.  _ Was. _

And just like that, the awkward tension in the air was back. Shit. Meouch opened his mouth to apologize when Phobos sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

_ Sorry. I guess that came across as pretty dark. _

Meouch puffed air through his nose and readjusted to a more comfortable seating position. “I mean… the whole thing is pretty dark.”

Phobos thought about it for a moment and nodded.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to. I know I said you owed me a brother story, but--”

Phobos held up his hand to stop him.  _ No, I’m good, _ he wrote with some slight trepidation.  _ I’m just a little frazzled, still. Give me a minute to write. _

“Mm,” Meouch hummed with a nod. Phobos was staring down at the journal, his expression blank as he chewed on the end of his pencil. He probably needed a moment to gather his thoughts. 

In the meantime, Meouch popped the lid on the guitar case sitting on the ground in front of him. Even in the poor lighting, he could see the quality in the leather and the locks. This thing was  _ designed _ to keep the elements out. The guitar inside was rough, but in one piece. The strings, remarkably, hadn’t rusted into nothing or tensed up to the point of cracking the neck. They were still in garbage shape, crackling and creaking instead of bending smoothly to his touch, but they made sound. The wood was soft and smooth from age, and the tuning pegs were stuck in place, but the instrument wasn’t a lost cause. With enough love, it could theoretically be fixed up and playable again.

“God damn,” he muttered under his breath, gingerly lifting the guitar out of the case. No wonder Phobos had been drawn to it. For it to be 150 years old and in this condition was incredible. That was a lot of history for one instrument.

Phobos held out the journal, open to a fresh page of writing. “Oh, thanks,” Meouch said, taking the book. “Here, trade.” He passed the guitar back to Phobos, who took it in both hands and laid it down gently in his lap.

_ Deimos was my twin brother,  _ Phobos had written.  _ He was my best friend. One of my only friends, really. I didn’t exactly get along with a lot of folks in my social circle. I was always sort of the odd lord out, I guess. Deimos… helped kind of bridge that gap. He was down with etiquette and debate and public speaking and all that shit, but he was also down to play hookie, or show up to boring meetings drunk with me, and bitch about the other stuck-up snots in the council. He was kind of a dweeb, but he was cool, y’know? He didn’t care much for music, but he always liked to listen to me play. He was a good guy. _

“He  _ sounds _ like a good guy,” Meouch mumbled. His chest grew tight, and it felt like his ribs were curling and twisting in on themselves. “You must really miss him.”

A nod.  _ It’s still weird to think that he’s gone. I’ll never get to tell him about all this. He never would’ve believed it. That me, a sheltered-ass lord, chased a smuggler halfway across the galaxy, got into fights, time traveled… Hell, he wouldn’t believe that I survived  _ _ camping. _ _ I’d love to see the look on his face. And like, I’d always wanted to leave home someday, and to experience what the rest of the galaxy had to offer, but… I never thought it would be like this. _

The vice around Meouch’s chest grew tighter as he read. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his mouth going dry. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry about your brother. About all of it.”

Phobos offered him a sad smile, the corner of his lip turning upward just a smidge.  _ I know. It’s okay, you don’t have to keep saying it. It’s all right. _

“Oh, bud, I’m gonna be apologizing for that ‘til the day I die,” Meouch said with a soft chuckle. “It’s too big not to.” He leaned back on his hands and looked down at the candles on the floor, eyes fixed on the shimmering pools of melted wax in the glass holders. “Even if you wanted to leave, it… still sucks that it’s gone.”

Phobos huffed out of his nose, his shoulders sagging a bit. He curled over around the guitar in his lap, his fingers ghosting over the strings. He rubbed his thumb over the neck, carefully, gently. He smiled a little bit. The guitar in his hands looked comfortable, natural; like it was meant to be there.

“So,” Meouch said, deciding to get the conversation back on track. “You any good with that guitar, or what?” He smirked.

Phobos’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows scrunched up in a mock scoff. How dare Meouch even  _ suggest _ that he wasn’t any good? He strummed his right hand over the strings with a flourish, producing a sad, out-of-tune clanking noise. Meouch snorted and flinched a bit at the noise. Phobos attempted to tune the strings, tugging on the tuning pegs, but most of them were stuck tight. When he managed to get one loose with a  _ crunch,  _ the string popped with a horrible twang. Both of them yelped, and Phobos nearly dropped the guitar again.

Meouch applauded and laughed. “Oh, truly a master of your craft, my Lord!”

Phobos stuck his tongue out at him while stifling a laugh of his own. He removed the broken string from the guitar, unraveling the ends through the tuning peg and the bridge, and he dragged the case over with his foot. It took a few moments of rummaging around in the poor light, but he searched through the pockets and compartments until he found a package of new strings.

“Hey, hopefully those haven’t gone to shit, too,” Meouch said. “I wanna see you  _ actually _ play. I haven’t been able to talk music with anyone in  _ forever.” _

Phobos pointed at him, and then at the guitar.

“Nah, I play bass. Or, used to, I guess. It’s been a long time,” he said with a shrug. He scratched under his nose as he thought back, trying to drag the old memories back to the surface. “I think it’s been, like… I dunno, fifteen years? Give or take. I used to be really good, but… eh, my boss kinda ruined it for me, I guess. But what else is new, eh?”

He knew Phobos was going to ask, so he cleared his throat and rolled out his shoulders, cracking his back. “Boss was a Funk supplier. Nastiest shit on the market, and they had a huge share. Name’s Rowley. Made most of the good shit themself, with nothin’ but a bass.” His ear flicked as he remembered the sound, the fast, chest-rumbling beats that would hit and resonate until he felt them in his teeth. “I picked up bass to start makin’ my own Funk, and after a while, I just played ‘cause I enjoyed it. It was like… y’know, a way for me to get my pent up feelings out and shit. But Rowley didn’t like the competition, and they thought playing just for fun was a waste. They thought I should monetize that shit. They made me start producing Funk for them, and it was just… soulless. Eventually I provoked a fight with some of the crew, took a blaster shot to the arm, and managed to get out of production and go back to smuggling. But I’m pretty sure I’ve been on Rowley’s shit list ever since.”

The guitar’s neck creaked in Phobos’s grip, and the guy looked absolutely pissed. Meouch couldn’t help but laugh, getting Phobos’s eyebrows to shoot up. “God, whenever you talk about your past I get all sad, and when I talk about mine, you get all angry. Maybe we should just quit talkin’ about this shit while we’re ahead.”

Phobos smiled and reached for the journal.  _ I dunno, injustice just gets me mad I guess! And you’ve been dealing with bullshit from day one, so… hearing about it gets me steamed. _

“Yeah, I got dealt a shit hand, what can I say?” Meouch nonchalantly shrugged one shoulder, then climbed to his feet. “Speaking of which, we’ve got a shit situation to work our way out of. Now we gotta find tools for the ship  _ and  _ for the guitar. C’mon.”

Phobos packed up the guitar, stood up, and slung the case over his shoulder. He gave Meouch a quick pat on the shoulder, a fast one-two, and walked back out into the depths of the ship.

Meouch picked up the candles and watched Phobos leave, still nervous with the guitar but at least willing to be seen with it. No matter what he said about his family being supportive, it clearly had still been hard on him, keeping such an important part of himself secret. Even if Deimos listened to him play, it wasn’t the same as being around other musicians and getting to actually  _ talk _ about it. Meouch didn’t know how much Phobos would be willing to talk to  _ him  _ about music, but… the door was open now. Maybe they’d walk through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "White Knuckles" by OK Go.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you all had a good week :) If you enjoyed this chapter, please don't forget to leave a comment! I read each and every one and they really do brighten up my day. Have a great weekend, and happy holidays!


	18. after this we should totally get pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phobos and Meouch have a lot of work cut out for them on the old ship, but slowly and surely, they make progress.

Even once they found an old crowbar and some screwdrivers in the weapons bay, setting up the ship’s power cells and hooking the solar panels up to them was no easy task. It took them a good part of the day to dig out the power cells and identify the ones that might still work, and the rest of the day to locate the solar panels and find where they connected to the unused escape pods. It would take them several more days to get the solar panels cleaned and out into the sunlight, and then safely hooked up to the power cells inside the engine room. It wasn’t easy working in the cold and the dark of the ship, and they went back to the house at night, tired and concerned about whether or not they were actually making progress. If the solar panels couldn’t power the ship, or if any of the parts were too old or damaged after a century and a half of being abandoned in the snow, then all this effort was for nothing, and their best chance at getting off the planet was gone. They just needed to get the ship’s communication computers up and running. They just had to get a signal out.

It took six days. Six days of crawling through the rusty ship interior, of trying to piece together wiring by candlelight, and of trying to work with poor quality tools with cold, uncoordinated fingers. It was hard to write while working on machines in dark rooms, so Phobos had to communicate primarily via hand gestures while mouthing along what he was trying to say, and as a result, Meouch got decently good at low-light lip reading.

Phobos did better with wiring and redirecting power than he thought he would, and Meouch seemed thoroughly impressed. They made a good team, and they were able to piece together a power rig bit by bit. After a few days, the broken wings of the ship had solar panels hooked up to the tops of them with the snow brushed off and wires weaved around the broken bits of metal. Once they got the solar panels hooked up to the power cells and the power cells hooked up properly to the rest of the ship, all they had to do was wait.

They got unlucky with the weather. The first night, it snowed, and they had to go clean off the solar panels when the storm stopped. After that, the sky was overcast for a day, and then partly cloudy the next. While they waited for the ship to charge, they tidied up the house some more, finally getting all the surfaces dust and dirt-free. Phobos successfully restrung the guitar after a lot of struggling with the rusty tuning pegs. It still didn’t sound great, but it was playable, and while Phobos wasn’t quite ready to play himself, he showed Meouch a few chords, teaching him the correct finger placements by pointing instead. There was one day where Meouch decided he desperately,  _ desperately _ needed a bath, and the two of them, scared of the tub upstairs falling through the floor, broke it loose and dragged it down the stairs themselves. They parked it right in the kitchen, next to the living room but just out of sight, cleaned it, plugged the drain, and filled it to the brim with melted snow. It took forever to fill and even longer to boil enough water to make it warm, but at the end of the day, it was a hot fucking bath. Phobos had called second dibs.

Finally, finally,  _ finally, _ after days of charging, the power cells on the ship had enough charge for lights to start flickering on and computers to start humming. The two of them frantically climbed all through the ship, powering off anything that didn’t need to be on. They didn’t need to waste power on entertainment systems and stereos--at least, not while they still had to get a distress signal out.

Phobos was in the bridge, standing at the ship’s main computer, and he waved Meouch over excitedly when he returned to the bridge after unplugging every last electrical appliance he could find. The computer systems were up and running, and although the screens were cracked and fizzling, Phobos could still mostly make out what everything was.

“Hooooly shit,” Meouch gasped, wrapping his arms around Phobos’s shoulders as he came up behind him. “Can you run diagnostic on the communications array?”

Phobos pointed to a progress bar at the bottom of the screen that was almost full. He was way ahead of him.

There was a staticy, distorted  _ ding  _ as the systems scan completed. Phobos scanned the system report on screen, a smile tugging at his lips. This whole time, he’d been curbing his expectations, but this looked good. “Are we good to go?” Meouch asked.

Phobos nodded, and his fingers flew across the keyboard like they weren’t even cold. A quick  _ tap tap tap, _ and they were syncing up with a satellite several solar systems away. A few more, and they were broadcasting. Phobos stepped away so Meouch could get to the screen. He pointed at his lips, and then at the computer. 

Meouch cleared his throat and leaned into the computer console. After a beat, considering his words, he spoke as loudly and clearly as he could. “Mayday, mayday. This is Commander Meouch and Lord Phobos. We’re stranded on this abandoned frozen-ass planet with no way off. Requesting rescue. I repeat, we are stranded and requesting rescue. Transmitting coordinates. Over.”

Phobos cut off the microphone, attached a set of coordinates to the message, and set it to broadcast on loop. He looked up at Meouch for confirmation. Meouch nodded. He pressed the final button and sent the distress signal.

He laughed, shaky and excited. They did it. Their signal was confirmed sent. With any luck, it was only a matter of time before someone heard it and came to rescue them. They could actually get off this planet.

If it actually worked… he was going to see other people again. They were going to leave this snowy town, this freezing planet, and get on a ship and not look back. They were going to take real showers and eat real meals and sleep in real beds and change out of their fucking space suits for the first time in ages. They were going to leave.

Meouch let out a long, loud whoop, throwing his arms up into the air and bouncing on the tips of his toes. “Yeaaahh! We actually got this hunk of junk working, holy  _ shit!” _ he yelled, his booming voice so loud that it was like all his smuggler bravado came back to him at once. He hugged Phobos, squeezed his arms around his chest, and continued screaming right into his shoulder. “We fucking did it! I was starting to think the solar panels wouldn’t be able to charge this thing, but… but… uh,” he stammered, and quickly pulled away. “Uh, sorry about that!” he laughed awkwardly, backing away from the hug. “I shouldn’t have just--”

Phobos hugged him back. He laughed some more, from deep in the gut this time. Meouch kept sounding like he was going to say something, but he just continued laughing instead. He returned the hug, and Phobos squeezed until his arms were tired.

As much as they wanted to wait in the ship to see if they got an answer to their signal, it was too cold in there. The heat wasn’t working, and the only light they had was from the computer screens. So, they trudged back through the snow to the house, arms around each other’s shoulders, practically skipping as they went.

Meouch hip-checked the front door open and hollered into the empty house, his loud voice echoing off the walls. Phobos cupped his hands around his mouth and whistled like a sports fan, making his pitch jump up and down wildly. Was he allowed to whistle? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. Screw it, he was allowed. He just decided. He wanted to  _ celebrate, _ dammit! They’d actually  _ done _ something! Their plan  _ worked! _ So fuck it, he was going to whistle to his heart’s content.

“Ooh, nice one,” Meouch said. He hustled over to the fireplace and started clicking his lighter against the smaller pieces of tinder. It took several clicks before he got a flame going, and when he did, it wasn’t very big. The tinder caught and the smaller pieces of wood went up, but Meouch still  _ tch _ ed. “I say we got that ship workin’ just in time. I’m gettin’ real sick of this cold.”

Phobos sat down with a huff onto the big couch, kicking his legs out and letting them dangle over the edge. He just hoped that someone would respond to their call soon. They still had food for another week, two if they rationed carefully, but that was it. They had no way of getting more. Broadcasting out to a satellite meant their message would be heard by people all across the galaxy, but they still just had to hope that someone would come in time.

Until then, they had a warm, roaring fire going, they had some food, and they were able to chow and relax, enjoying the clean, toasty home after they’d spent the whole day in the dark, cold, cramped ship. Phobos was lying down on the couch, arms over his head, looking around the room and at the light from the fire dancing on the ceiling. They really had spruced this place up in their time here. They had covered up the broken windows to seal up the huge drafts. They had built a makeshift bathroom. The space was clean, stocked with supplies, and relatively safe from the elements. They had even gathered up a few board games from around the neighborhood that somehow hadn’t rotted away. Of course, any instructions that had been there were long gone, and the boards and cards were blank except for braille-like bumps all over them, since the inhabitants of this planet were blind. That didn’t stop them from spending a few nights making up their own rules and throwing game pieces around, though. Phobos smiled. Believe it or not, he had a feeling he was actually going to miss this place.

Meouch was sitting on a cushion by the fire, noodling with the guitar. He was humming something, some song he’d been humming all day, and trying to figure out the melody. It wasn’t going particularly well. His right hand fumbled over the strings, since the guitar’s six were spaced closer together than a bass’s four. He couldn’t quite get the hang of the strumming, frequently hitting the wrong strings and forgetting to mute others. He’d been complaining for days that he preferred bass, and yet he kept trying. Props to him for sticking with it, but at the same time…

Okay, his playing was horrible. Phobos wanted so badly to take the guitar and play something, anything, but… he’d never played in front of anyone besides Deimos before. He hadn’t played at all, other than testing out the strings to tune the guitar, since his society had been completely destroyed.

He’d brought his guitar with him when he packed his ship and escaped the aftermath, but it had just sat in its case, untouched, ever since. The thought of playing it had just felt… wrong.

Maybe things were different now, though. He wasn’t running purely on anger and fumes. He wasn’t on a mission to kill. Hell, Meouch had gotten him to smile and laugh and hug and actually have  _ fun _ again. Meouch! Of all people! And Meouch actually  _ liked _ music. He hummed, he sang, he plucked his way through guitar melodies and enjoyed doing so. This wasn’t Deimos or his parents engaging with it from a distance. This was someone who would eagerly meet him on his level.

Maybe… he  _ could _ play again, without it leaving a weird taste in his mouth. Maybe it’d be nice to play for someone else. Maybe--

_ Twang! _ Another horribly misplaced note, and Phobos just couldn’t take it anymore. He shot up off the couch, walked over to Meouch, and pulled the guitar from his hands. Without so much as an explanation, he plopped himself down on the floor next to him, sat the guitar in his lap, and started to play, awkward guilty feelings be damned. 

Meouch opened his mouth to protest, but shut up as soon as fingers were put to strings. Phobos just played one of the first songs he learned for fun and later used just to warm up, some upbeat song with fun little licks and some slight vibrato that he couldn’t remember the name of anymore, and Meouch was staring at him, his jaw on the floor. His fingers flew over the frets in a familiar pattern, and his pick hit the strings without him even having to think twice about it. He just turned his brain off, nodded his head and grooved his shoulders along with the music, and got lost in it for a couple of minutes.

He ended the song on a long held note, and he looked up to see Meouch staring at him. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and Phobos looked away.  _ “Shit,  _ dude! That was  _ sick!” _

Phobos could feel his face growing hot, and he untucked some hair from behind his ear to hide his face. 

“Dude. Phobos. You’re  _ really good, _ ” Meouch said. Phobos didn’t look at him, but he could hear the gentle smile in his voice. “Man, I’ve been playin’ like shit for  _ days,  _ and you just made that guitar  _ sing!  _ Couldn’t take it anymore, huh?”

Phobos snickered into the body of the guitar, smiling through the resurgence of his nerves. He couldn’t like… it  _ did _ feel good to show off a little.

"And you kept that to  _ yourself _ for a thousand years? Damn, dude,” Meouch said. “If you can do  _ that _ with an old-ass guitar, in the cold, after, what, a month of not practicing? I would  _ pay  _ to see what you could do for real.”

Phobos smiled. Meouch wanted to see what he could do for real, huh? He cracked his fingers. This was going to be good. 

The night breezed by in a flash, Phobos playing the acoustic guitar until his fingers ached, his back leaning against the couch and his feet warming by the fire. Meouch was drumming along with some of the stuff he found in the kitchen, some spoons and an old rust-caked pot. When it was a song with words that he knew, he sang along, doing his best to provide percussion and vocals at the same time. Phobos played a little bit of everything he knew: classical music that he learned to try and appeal to his parents, heavy metal that he learned to spite them entirely, and energetic rock songs that he had written himself. When he mentioned that he wrote music, Meouch's jaw dropped for the second time that night.

"You  _ wrote _ that? Hot damn, bud!" He laughed, slapping his knee as he smiled. "I was never much of a songwriter myself. I prefer to just add some spice to songs, y'know, add a little groovy kick. But you've got a real knack for this shit, you know that?"

Phobos beamed. He didn't even have to say thank you--it was obvious that Meouch could tell just from his expression that he was thankful. "Damn, I wish there was a bass on that ship that wasn't wrecked to hell. I'd love to play you something that was half decent," Meouch sighed. He flopped backwards, lying on the floor, and the long hair of his mane fanned out around his head. His head lay next to Phobos's knee, so he could still kind of look up and see him. "When we get out of here, we gotta have a proper jam session sometime, I swear."

Phobos nodded eagerly.  _ I don't even know where to go once we leave this place, _ he mouthed. Meouch leaned up on his elbows so he could get a better view of Phobos's lips.  _ I mean, we're in the future. My planet's probably in ruins just as much as this one is. I don't have anywhere to go, or anyone to try and find. _

"Huh." Meouch tilted his head back in thought, pursing his lips. He clicked his tongue. "Y'know what? Me either. At first, I figured I'd go back to my old normal. I figured I'd just... find some other crew to take me on. Not one that was dealing with Funk, obviously. But... I really don't fuckin' want to do any of that anymore," he said with a laugh. “I think it’s safe to say that smuggling hasn’t exactly worked out for me. I’m fuckin’ done with all of that shit. I’m done takin’ orders and traveling with assholes.”

_ We should… stick together, when we leave. _

“We should! You know what we  _ oughta _ do,” Meouch exclaimed, holding one finger up like he just had a very good idea. “We should form a  _ band _ when we get out of here.”

Phobos laughed, his four eyes squeezing shut for a moment.  _ I always wanted to be in a band. But no! I had to do fuckin’ royal shit! _ It was easy to emphasize curse words when he was mouthing them, since they were so easy to recognize. Everyone knew what shape  _ fuck _ made.

“Oh, fuckin’ gross! Lame,” Meouch yelled. “Like what, like what? What’d you have to do?”

Phobos held up a finger and then put the guitar aside, resting it on the floor. He got up and had to crawl back onto the couch to fetch his book. He had to bring it back down next to the fire so he could see while he wrote, and after a minute of quick scribbling, he handed it off.  _ Y’know, like, etiquette, debate, law, politics, that sort of shit. I always hated it. Deimos was always way better at being a Lord than I was. I just wanted to study ships and write songs all day, but noooo. I had to be a figurehead or whatever. Like, I know I grew up rich and privileged and whatever, and I got a great education and never had to worry about money, but… it was really stifling. Outside of the house, I couldn’t be myself. _

“Oh, what the  _ fuck,” _ Mouch groaned. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit. Was this your parents forcing you to do this? Like, I don’t wanna dunk on them, especially after what I did to them, but…” He trailed off with a shrug.

_ I mean, it was a… societal thing, _ Phobos wrote. He laid down on his stomach on top of one of the cushions that had found its way onto the floor, and Meouch adjusted himself so that he was lying next to him.  _ I don’t blame them for it. They were more lenient with me than the higher nobles of the kingdom wanted them to be, at the very least. _

“So this shit went all the way to the fuckin’ top,” Meouch said with a nod. “That shit sucks, man. It sucks when you can’t just… be who you wanna be. Feels like you’re lying, or just hiding away.” He sighed. “I mean, I… I never really stuck around with any one ship long enough to make real friends. I’ve never really been able to just… cut loose, in a way that actually mattered, y’know? I could get drunk and party with ‘em all I wanted, but I wasn’t about to like, get deep with ‘em about shit I cared about. I’ve always had the freedom to do what I wanna do, but… I dunno. I get what you mean about being stifled.”

_ So… you’ve never had a late night deep dive with someone where you talked about your feelings or your woes? _

“Nope. First time,” he smirked tiredly. “Fuck, is that what we’re doing? God damn, look at this. This isn’t camping or survival anymore, this is just a fuckin’ sleepover at this point!” He laughed, his head lolling onto the floor. “We got board games, and a guitar, and food, and we’re talking about our shitty upbringings at the equivalent of two in the fucking morning. Watch, next I’m gonna start braiding your hair.” 

Phobos snorted through his nose. He wrote in large, lazy letters, taking his time as the thought slowly materialized in his mind.  _ Like, two weeks ago, we were trying to kill each other, and now we’re having a slumber party. I can’t get over that. _

“God, me either,” Meouch hummed. “I wanted to kick your ass so hard… Y’know, since you hated me for a thing I already hated myself for. It just felt redundant and awful. But now, we’re… friends? Can I say that? Are we friends now?”

Phobos smiled. It started off small, but after a couple of moments, he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. Meouch smiled back at him. It was all the answer he needed.

“Today is a great fucking day,” he said. “We fixed the ship, I made a friend,  _ and _ I’m in a  _ band _ now.  _ Fuck _ yeah!”

They both laughed then, despite everything. Despite the deaths they were both mourning, despite the abandoned planet they found themselves stranded on, and despite the plenty of reasons they could’ve had to keep hating each other... They were friends.

They laughed until they heard a rumbling in the atmosphere. It sounded like the wind howling at first, which they were used to. Then it started to sound like thunder, and then like the loud, rhythmic hum of engines pulsing through the night sky.

Phobos stopped laughing and just listened, his long ears on high alert even as he lay on the floor, relaxed. Meouch shot up to a sitting position, his eyes wide and his head tilted up towards the ceiling. The sound got louder and louder. The candles on the table and on the mantle started to shake. The walls and the floor started to rumble. Fine dust sprinkled down from the cracks in the ceiling.

By the time they had gotten to their feet and rushed over to the front door, the ship had landed in the street, right next to the old smuggling ship. Phobos paused behind Meouch in the doorway, his heart beating in his ears and his hands shaking. Someone came. Someone  _ came _ . Their signal was being answered. They were going to get out of here.

He took a step out the door, but Meouch placed an arm in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “Phobos,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the ship that had just landed. “Get back in the house.”

Phobos nervously turned to face him. What was going on?

“I know that ship,” Meouch gulped. He locked eyes with Phobos then, and Phobos was surprised to see fear there. “Those are Funk smugglers, and we need to leave right the fuck now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Things to Do" by First of October.
> 
> Sorry for the late update! Christmas and all. Things are starting to ramp up, huh? Just in case New Years messes up my posting schedule again, consider subscribing to this story so you get emailed when there's an update! Don't forget to comment if you enjoyed this chapter :) See yall next time!


	19. if you hear my voice come pick me up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is on.

Meouch slammed the door shut. His blood felt cold in his veins, even though he could feel his heart pounding in doubletime. There was no mistaking it, even in the darkness. After over 200 years, it still looked the same. More wear and tear around the edges, maybe some new weapons and engine upgrades, but it was the same. It was Rowley’s ship. The bastard who had a stranglehold on half the galaxy’s Funk production and distribution. If they were the ones who picked up on their distress signal... Fuck, Meouch had used their names in the message he sent, hadn't he? They knew he was here, and they knew he and Phobos had no way off of this planet. He didn't think they had dropped by just to say hello and give them a lift.

“We gotta go,” he whispered to Phobos. “We gotta go right the fuck now, or we’re as good as dead.”

Phobos nodded, eyes wide, and backed away from the door. They both quietly eased their way back into the living room, their base of operations, (their home,) and didn’t even bother gathering supplies or putting out the fire in the fireplace. The light and smoke coming from the house would have been easy to spot, and there was no point wasting time. Bringing food would just weigh them down and get them caught. Rowley and their crew were highly mobile, and had numbers and supplies on their side. Meouch and Phobos would have to travel light, travel fast, travel  _ now. _

They had to go out the back. It was the easiest way to avoid being seen from the ship, and it was closest to the woods. Heading into the forest would be their best bet. Staying in the open, with the snow slowing them down and leading the smugglers right to them, would just be digging their own graves. Meouch hoisted Phobos up onto the counter in the kitchen, from which they could access a window and slide down the sloped wall to the overgrown backyard.

Once they were both up and through, they dropped into the snow behind the house, which climbed up to their shins. No matter what they did or where they went, they were going to leave a trail behind them, so Meouch could only hope they got enough distance between them and Rowley’s crew that they would have a hard time keeping up.

He lead the way, Phobos tailing close behind. He could see well in the dark, and he knew the layout of the neighborhood pretty well by now, so he--

“Oh  _ Commander!  _ It’s been too  _ long,  _ my friend!” A cocksure, drawling voice called from the street, and Meouch whipped his head around, trying to hear past his heart thumping in his ears. He couldn’t see anyone close by, so they likely hadn’t spotted him yet, but he and Phobos wouldn’t be unseen for long. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since you destroyed a whole planet and then fucked off into the unknown! What do you say we catch up over a little coffee? Over a little Funk?”

“That’s Rowley,” Meouch hissed as he and Phobos continued to book it towards the treeline. “That’s fuckin’ Rowley, we gotta  _ go.  _ Go go go fuckin’ go!”

He could hear the commotion of the crew as they trudged through the snow on the street, calling out and whistling for him like this was some game. They blasted the door to the house off its hinges, and he saw glimpses of light from their flashlights. The blood pumping through his veins felt as cold as the snow clinging to his feet and legs. He and Phobos scrambled through the yard, and the next yard, and the one after that, high-stepping around shrubs and trees and old furniture and whatever else was buried under the snow. They ducked into the forest, the same one that they had warped into when they first came to this planet, and they got a few trees deep before Meouch heard blaster fire coming from the direction of their house.

They’d been spotted.

The two of them hadn’t been in the woods since they stumbled upon the abandoned town, and they hadn’t been out there in the dark since that first night, but they flew past scenery, heading downhill whenever they could. Meouch knew where they had to go: the river, the one that had pointed them in the direction of the town in the first place. It had to be nearby, and if it wasn’t totally frozen over, it could hide their tracks, at least for a little while. If they could throw the smugglers off their trail for just a little bit, they could circle back around to the ship and get out of here.

Focus, Meouch, he found himself thinking amongst the panic. One thing at a time. Get to the river, don’t get shot, make sure Phobos doesn’t get shot. Don’t get captured. Don’t trip and--

Meouch hit the ground fast and hard. He had been running full-tilt down a hill, mane whipping around his face, feet desperately trying to keep up through the snow, when his foot came down on a rock and his ankle went 90 degrees in the wrong direction. He tumbled to a stop, and his heart plummeted as his ankle erupted in pain.

He couldn’t run like this. He wouldn’t be able to escape. Game over.

Meouch landed in the snow on his chest, and he struggled to push himself up onto his knees. The snow was easily a foot thick, and he was already losing feeling in his hands. Phobos skidded to a stop next to him, kicking snow up into the air as he did, and he dropped to one knee. The faint glow of flashlights could be seen from the trees behind them.

“What are you doing?” Meouch groaned as Phobos kneeled down next to him, wrapping his hands under Meouch’s arms. “Don’t stop for me, go!”

But Phobos wasn’t listening. He was trying to hoist Meouch up onto his feet, ignoring the jeering calls from the smugglers growing ever closer.

Meouch pulled one of his arms out of Phobos’s grip and glared up at him. His eyes stung, and he had to blink to keep Phobos from looking blurry. “Leave me and  _ go!  _ They’re going to catch  _ both of us!” _

Phobos shook his head. He gave one final heave, and with Meouch’s good foot scrambling to get purchase on the ground, they were both standing up. Phobos looped Meouch’s arm around his shoulders and started dragging him forward deeper into the forest, trudging and lugging him through the snow.

“No, dammit, don’t you get it?” Meouch hissed, wriggling out of Phobos’s grasp and standing on one leg. “They want  _ me _ dead, they don’t care about you. I’m done. You need to  _ go. _ If you stay, they’ll just kill you too!”

But then Phobos looked at him, and gave him a sad smile through the darkness. He shook his head once more and wrapped his arm around Meouch again, determined to carry him.

Meouch blinked, surprised, and before he could protest further, Phobos was lugging him along through the snow. Fuck it. He limped along, not willing to lose anymore time. If Phobos was going to stick with him, then dammit, Phobos was going to stick with him. He couldn’t help but smile through the pain engulfing his ankle. “You stupid son of a bitch.” Phobos nodded.

They made it to the river, which, by some miracle, wasn’t entirely frozen. There was some ice by the banks, but overall, even though it was shallow, the movement of the water resisted the freeze. They leapt and bound into it, the cold water a shock to their legs that they had to shake off, and turned right, heading downstream in the middle of the water. It was freezing cold and there was no cover, but they weren’t leaving tracks in the snow anymore. Hopefully, they could lose the smugglers but cutting off the trail they’d been leaving behind. It was really the only idea Meouch had.

He could still hear the smugglers calling and jeering a ways behind him--some voices he recognized, some he didn’t--but they were quieter compared to the sounds of the stream and of his and Phobos’s huffing and puffing. He couldn’t hop on one foot through the rocky creek, so he had to limp with his bad foot and lean heavily on Phobos to get through the shooting pain. The cold water was helping to dull it, but it was also bringing its own brand of hurt.

They went through the stream for a few minutes before Phobos dragged him up and out, and they were back in the snow once more. The woods were a little thicker here, so hopefully, even if the smugglers guessed their path correctly and followed them this far, they’d have more places to hide.

Meouch couldn’t hear yelling anymore. Whether they lost the smugglers or they were just keeping quiet now, he didn’t know.

Eventually, when the cold air stung his throat and lungs and his frozen brick of a foot refused to go any further, Meouch sputtered to a stop. Phobos was breathing heavily, his hair a mess and his nose running from the cold, but he managed to drag Meouch an extra couple of feet behind a fallen tree, where they collapsed in a heap with their backs to the bark. They both caught their breath, trying not to cough or be too loud. They were still in a lot of danger. Danger which… Phobos was braving for  _ him. _

Meouch turned his head to look at the man next to him, utterly exhausted with his hands crammed into his armpits. “Y’know what?” he whispered, in between deep breaths.

“Shh.”

“I think you might be the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Shh!” Phobos hushed, nudging him with his elbow. He pointed to his ear, and Meouch, heart plummeting, shut up and listened.

Splashes in the water.

They were dead. They were so dead. The fucking tracks in the snow would lead the smugglers right to them, and that was that. They could only haul ass through the snow for so long, and the smugglers would easily be able to outpace them, even with Meouch and Phobos’s head start and home field advantage. They couldn’t win this.

“Last chance to get out of here,” Meouch whispered.

Phobos took a deep breath and sighed. He leaned his head back against the felled tree and just smiled.

The splashing got replaced with crunching through snow. Meouch tilted his head back and looked up at the sky through the pine boughs. The footsteps got louder. It was a nice night. He could see the stars.

He felt the cold metal of a blaster against his temple. “Hello boys,” one of the smugglers grunted, sounding smug. He didn’t even sound like he was tired, the bastard. “Boss would like a word with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Astronaut" by Simple Plan.
> 
> Oh fuck oh shit! It's go time! Are they best friends now? Are they gonna die?? Are they totally fucked??? Wait til next time to find out ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you've enjoyed this chapter. Happy new year everyone!


	20. murder that bassline bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch and Phobos confront Meouch's old boss. Things get a little hairy.

Phobos was having a hard time letting it sink in. Just an hour ago, he and Meouch were riding high, jamming out, joking around, having a proper party. He had been exhausted, but the good kind of exhausted: satisfied, relieved, and a little bit silly. Now, he was an entirely different exhausted, and he was staring death right in the face. Again. He thought he was  _ done _ fighting smugglers.

Granted, he considered as he was pushed through the snowy forest with a blaster at his back, he could’ve left. Meouch gave him ample opportunity to turn tail and run, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just leave him to die like that, even if it  _ was _ stupid.

Yeah, this pretty much settled it. Phobos had a stupid, stupid death wish.

There were five smugglers escorting them back to Meouch’s old boss’s ship, all of them equipped for the cold and dark and armed to the teeth. They met up with six more at the river, who had apparently been searching up the other way. Phobos gulped. He and Meouch were in bad shape, and were severely outnumbered. Being held prisoner was quickly turning into a best-case scenario.

He spared a glance at Meouch. He was heavily limping, but Phobos couldn’t see much more than that in the dark. How he himself had managed to run through the forest without taking a tumble like that, he didn’t know.

The smugglers were jeering and making snide comments as they walked back through the path in the snow, most of the insults being pointed at Meouch. “Traitor.” “Dead meat.” “Coward.” “Soft.” Whether or not Meouch knew this particular crew personally, they sure seemed to know him. They didn’t seem to know what to make of Phobos; he got off with such nicknames as “skinny” and “pretty boy.”

Sooner than he would’ve liked, he and Meouch were back in the town, and deposited on their knees at the base of Rowley’s ship in the middle of the street. The snow here had been mostly tamped flat, thanks to all the crew running about, so they at least didn’t sink in very far. Lights from the ship illuminated the area, and it seemed a little foggy out. Phobos caught a hint of smoke in the air.

“Well well well. Howdy, boys,” squawked a voice on Phobos’s flank. He turned to look, and who he could only assume was Rowley was walking up to them from the direction of the house. The windows and cracks in the roof glowed brightly from the inside, and the chimney was pouring smoke. Phobos’s breath caught in his throat. That little house had practically become home, and now…

Rowley stood in front of them now, tall and with their chest puffed out. They were bird-like, with black and white feathers, a sharp beak and talons, and powerful arms that looked an awful lot like wings. Their coat billowed behind them in the wind, and Phobos spied a pair of well-kept blasters on their hips.

“Commander Meouch,” they said, resting their hands (wings?) on their hips. “What’s it been, 200 years, give or take? You’re looking well, all things considered.”

“Go suck a dick, asshole,” Meouch replied, loud and calm despite his hands shaking in his handcuffs.

Rowley didn’t look taken aback by the comment and instead smiled. “Ah ah. Strike one, Commander. And considering all you’ve done to me already, that’s being generous.”

“What  _ I  _ did to  _ you?!” _ Meouch growled, struggling against his restraints. “What about what your shit did to Phobos’s planet, huh? Or this planet, for that matter! How many worlds have you destroyed, you piece of shit?”

“Hey now, settle down. I’m not the one who let the pressure build up to astronomically dangerous levels, now am I?” They grinned and nudged Meouch in the shoulder with their foot as the rest of the smugglers surrounding them chuckled. Phobos shuddered. “And oh! Where are my manners,” they drawled, suddenly turning their head to Phobos. Bright yellow eyes stared down at him, full of fury while the rest of their expression was calm. “You must be the Lord Phobos we’ve heard so much about. Quite the survivor you are, eh? First surviving your planet, and then surviving out here, and with Meouch, of all people.”

Phobos stared them down, not daring to blink or look away.

“Hm. Well, my name is Rowley. I’m the owner of this here ship, captain of this here crew, and organizer and proprietor of Funk trade across the galaxy. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” They said all this like it was a normal day job--like being a drug lord was something to be proud of. “Now Mr. Phobos, it was never our intention to cause the calamity on your planet all those years ago, and you have my sincerest condolences for your loss. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and say that your apparent partnership with my former associate here--” he motioned to Meouch with one wing-- “was against your will. I certainly can’t imagine why you’d  _ willingly _ help him in your little escape attempt. So I’ll make this offer once.” They got down on one knee in front of Phobos and leaned in close. “Ditch the kitty cat. We’ll give you a lift to wherever you’d like to go, free of charge, and we forget this little hiccup and just let bygones be bygones. Hm?”

Phobos couldn’t believe the shit he was hearing. The  _ audacity _ . He tilted his head to the side, squinted, and bunched up his eyebrows. Yeah, this jerk really was suggesting that they were more palatable than Meouch, even after they pulled the “let bygones be bygones” card to try and sweep all responsibility under the rug. Even after they didn’t care about what happened to this world, or any others. Phobos sniffled through his runny nose and spat in their face.

Everyone froze. The smugglers went silent, and Rowley closed their eyes, leaning back a little bit. They brought one feathery finger up to their face and slowly, deliberately flicked away the glob of spit, which had landed just below one of their eyes.

“Now, I don’t appreciate that,” Rowley grumbled, standing up straight again. “I’m tryin’ to be polite, and that’s how you repay me? Highly inconsiderate of you, Mr. Phobos.”

“Eh, to be fair,” Meouch said with a shrug, “It’s a good look for you, Rowl. You should get spit on more often.”

“And  _ you _ should shut your  _ yap,”  _ Rowley said, kicking Meouch all the way to the ground and planting their foot on his back. “Before I shut it for you.”

Meouch laughed, his voice partially muffled by the snow and quieted by the pressure on his back. He turned his head in an attempt to look up. “Go shit on a car, you bird brained mother fucker.”

Rowley drew their blaster at lightning speed and pointed it down at Meouch. “Ooh, you don’t want to give me a reason to kill you, Commander. I already have several,” they crooned, taking immense pleasure in lording over Meouch. “The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m relishing this little moment here. That the great Commander Meouch, who destroyed a civilization and vanished without a trace for 200 years, is right here in my grasp, after calling out to the universe for help like a little baby. That one of the most high-ranking members of my operation at the time, who wiped out an entire portion of my clientele, and scrambled my forces and resources for  _ years,  _ is hurt, weak, powerless, and yet still talking like he owns the place. You really  _ haven’t _ changed, have you?” Rowley twisted their foot, digging their talons deeper into Meouch’s back.

“Mmm. You haven’t changed much either,” Meouch grunted. His breathing was shallow thanks to the foot on his back, and Phobos hoped he wouldn’t push his luck further than he’d already had. “You’re still smugglin’ the same old shit and not carin’ who lives or dies, so long as money finds its way into your pocket.”

Rowley chuckled. “You always were a little softie, Meouch. Unfortunately,” the said, taking aim with their blaster, “being soft ain’t gonna help you now.”

There was a rumble in the atmosphere, a bright flash, and a pulse of energy crashed through all of them. Phobos’s hair went wild in the sudden wind, his heart felt like it was slamming up against his ribs, and when he looked up, Rowley’s blasters, and the weapons of the whole crew, had been scattered on the ground.

Twenty feet above them, a ship had materialized out of thin air. Rock music was pouring out of large speakers mounted on the wings as it hovered there, shining colorful lights down on the street below. Next to one of the speakers, Doctor Sung was standing on the wing, his chest puffed out and his arms crossed. “Hey there, nerds! Is this supposed to be a rescue attempt, bird guy? Because I think you’re doing it wrong!” Phobos could see his smile from all the way down in the snow. “I think it’s supposed to go a little something like this!”

Sung jumped down, landing right on the back of one of the smugglers and sending them crashing down to the ground. A cyborg whom Phobos could only assume was Havve Hogan--he’d never actually met the guy face to face, only heard about him from Meouch and Sung--followed shortly after, leaping down from the gangplank under the ship, and slammed downward, his fist connecting with another smuggler's face on the way down. Smugglers scrambled for their weapons, some trying to grab their blasters, and others reaching for knives they kept on their persons. Rowley screamed, a loud and harsh cry, and they jumped off of Meouch and rushed towards Sung.

Phobos blinked, dazed by the sudden rush of sounds and wind and action. It all happened so suddenly, and--

One of the smugglers guns was right next to him, discarded in the snow, and he got up off his knees and lunged for it. His hands were still bound behind his back, and he awkwardly landed on the gun with his chest, getting a face full of snow while he was at it. He flipped over to try and grasp it in his hands, fumbling with the positioning and the cold metal while trying not to get stepped on.

The street had erupted into pandemonium, with about six or seven of the smugglers and Rowley descending upon Sung and Havve in a wave. The two of them didn't even seem to mind, taking the punches and slashes in stride as rock music blared above them. Sung was swinging around nunchucks in a blur around his arms, using them to smack hands and weapons away. Anyone who got too close got a swift kick to the chest or the abdomen, and Phobos quickly saw one or two get an elbow to the face. Havve wasn't holding anything back; he had knives in each hand, and was openly gunning for any smugglers in his laser red sight. The amount of leather the smugglers were wearing meant that slashes and stabs mostly grazed off them, but none of them wanted to get near Havve for close combat.

The smugglers who weren't converging on the newcomers were crowding around Meouch, intent on not letting him get away. He was still on the ground, struggling to get up out of the snow, when one of the smugglers planted their foot right between Meouch's shoulder blades.

He’d never fired a gun before, but Phobos had to take the opportunity while he had it. None of the bad guys were on him, and Meouch was in trouble. He raised himself up onto his knees, holding the blaster behind his back, and fired. There was no recoil, but a loud  _ pew _ as the shot fired off into the shoulder of the guy standing on Meouch. Phobos quickly fired off two more, trying to get the other smugglers crowding around them, but his shots went wide. 

Meouch rolled onto his side and pushed himself up onto his knees, panting heavily. One of the smugglers, pulling a knife, grabbed him by the mane, while the other rushed at Phobos. Phobos closed his eyes and fired, hoping and praying, and when he didn't feel anyone attacking him, he peeked one eye open to see the guy on the ground on top of the one who'd taken the shoulder hit. Phobos stood up all the way then, and keeping a tight hold on the gun behind his back, ran into the smuggler gripping Meouch's mane and shoulder checked him. 

A sharp sting raked across Phobos's arm, and without looking he knew he'd been slashed. He didn't stop though, kneeing the smuggler in the stomach, spinning around, and jamming the butt of the blaster rifle up under his ribs. A third smuggler down.

"Holy fucking  _ shit," _ Meouch croaked, still dazed. "How did you… fuck, nevermind. Give me the blaster, I'll get your handcuffs."

Phobos collapsed next to Meouch, shaking, his stomach crumpled up like a ball of tin foil. That was so fucking lucky. God, he was  _ not _ cut out for fighting. How the hell did he think he was capable of killing? No no no no no.

He turned his back to Meouch, crouched down, and handed him the blaster. They were kneeling back to back, and they had to maneuver the blaster entirely by feel while also keeping an eye on the fight around them. Sung was on the ground, his arms criss-crossed over his chest to block Rowley's talons from coming down on him. Rowley themself was on top of Sung, flapping their wings to press downward on him, when Havve blindsided them and tackled them to the ground.

"I think I--Okay, don't move," Meouch grunted, twisting himself into position. With a pull of the trigger, there was a blast of heat right between Phobos's wrists, and the cuffs were separated.

Phobos pulled his hands into his chest and held them there, trembling. He could barely hear the fighting and blaster fire over his heart thumping in his ears. He was about ready to jump out of his own skin. Meouch passed him back the blaster, but he didn’t trust himself to fire it. His hands quaked as his fingers gripped around the cold metal. Meouch said something to him, but he couldn’t hear it, let alone process it.

A smuggler, sent flying back from one of Sung’s kicks, landed in a heap at Phobos’s feet, and he yelped and fired a shot straight up into the air. Meouch yelled something behind him, probably something akin to “fuck.”

The smuggler, with some difficulty, started to get back up on his feet. Phobos, in a blind panic, kicked and kicked, but the smuggler still managed to stand up. One glance at Phobos, scared shitless, holding onto a blaster but not doing anything with it, and the smuggler smiled, baring gold, pointed teeth. He grabbed the blaster, trying to pry it away, but Phobos’s hands were in a death grip. Gold-teeth yanked, but the blaster stayed put.

He kicked Phobos hard in the chest, and something cracked. Phobos flinched and grappled for new purchase on the blaster.

_ Pew! _

Gold-teeth was down, groaning and dazed--the blaster had been switched to stun in the scuffle--and Phobos’s heart was pounding like he’d just run a marathon. His breathing was short, shallow, and pained. Whatever healing his rib had gone through in the past week or so had just been swiftly undone, and he had to blink hard to keep the darkness at the edge of his vision at bay.

The remaining smugglers--as Sung and Havve had knocked out quite a few of them--were on the ropes. Rowley was haggard, flying just out of reach. Their ship’s engines were whirring to life, making the air thrum and vibrate. The smoke from the burning house, which was starting to cover the street, was getting whipped up and making it harder to see. Phobos fought to keep his eyes open, trying desperately to keep tabs on all the treats, but he could barely see or hear anything.

He reached behind him for Meouch, still sitting with his back to him. He hated this.

Rowley’s ship started to lift off, the rhythmic pulses from the engines sending Phobos’s hair flying in his face. Were they retreating? Even with the numbers advantage they had?

Rowley’s voice suddenly boomed, seemingly from everywhere at once, and it took Phobos a second to realize it had come from their ship’s speakers. “We could’ve settled this cleanly, Commander!” they said, loud enough that Phobos hunched his shoulders up to his ears. “But now things are gonna have to get messy. My apologies!”

The air around them rumbled with a deep bass and crackled with static electricity. Something on the ship was charging up.

“Havve!” Sung’s yell pierced through the noise and the smoke. Phobos couldn’t see Havve, just two red lights that suddenly flashed through the smoke, and the rock music that had been playing from their ship abruptly stopped. There was a shockwave, much like the initial one that blasted the weapons out of everyone’s hands, but strong enough this time that it shoved Phobos over, ass over head, until he was lying on his stomach in the snow. The bass and electric crackle stopped, fizzling out in an instant.

Rowley’s engines kicked into high gear, blowing the smoke away until the area was clear and Phobos could see again. Indeed, there were downed smugglers all over the place, and Rowley and the rest of their lucky survivors were all on the ship. Sung had blood trickling down his nose and streaked across his fists, and Havve’s eyes were still glowing bright red.

“This ain’t over, Meouch!” Rowley said, their voice echoing through the dilapidated street. “I got eyes across the whole galaxy. I’ll get you.  _ All _ of you.”

Another blast of the engines, and the ship shot up into the atmosphere. Phobos stood and looked up, seeing the cannons and shock weapons hanging limp from the hull, before the ship was engulfed in the blue light of its warp engines.

“Yeah! Get outta here!” Sung yelled, breathing heavy as he wiped some blood from his lip. He stared at where Rowley’s ship disappeared in the night sky, watching until the warp trails disappeared. He still held his nunchucks tight in his hands, and had his knees bent like he was ready to start fighting again at a moment’s notice.

Havve’s optics stopped glowing so bright, returning to their normal pinpricks of red. His shoulders were bobbing like he was breathing hard. “Doc, are you okay?”

Sung sniffed. “Eh, nothin’ I can’t walk off. How ‘bout you, big guy? You good after interfacing with the ship like that?” He reached a hand down and helped pull Havve to his feet. “I know you hate doing it.”

Havve shrugged. “It had to be done. I got some scratches and dings I ought to buff out. I think one of the springs in my shoulder got knocked loose. Aside from that, I’m fine.”

“Okay, cool, cool. Now, where were we?” Sung huffed. He looked over at Phobos, standing over Meouch and holding the blaster rifle in his hands, and immediately began to panic. “Whoa whoa whoa, shit!” he yelled as he rushed over, nunchucks spinning. In one swift motion, he knocked the blaster up out of Phobos’s hands and wrapped his wrists up in the nunchuck’s chains. “Stand down, dude! Don’t kill him, we can work this out!”

“Whoa, whoa, Sung, it’s cool!” Meouch yelled, holding his hands up. “Phobos is cool, chill!”

Phobos, whose wrists hurt and whose re-cracked rib felt like it was on fire, nodded. He held his hands open and his palms out, unable to do much else. His heart was pounding, and his mind was still reeling from the huge fight that had just happened.

Sung stopped, silent, and just held his grip on Phobos for a moment. “What,  _ what?” _

“We’re good, we figured it out!” Meouch said. “He ain’t gonna kill me!”

The four of them were still. Just breathing, processing, and waiting for someone else to make a move first. Meouch, on the ground, bruised up and half buried in kicked-up snow. Phobos, exhausted, grappled by Sung, who was still raring to go despite the blood slowly dripping from his nose. Havve, behind them, one arm hanging slightly limp, but ready to jump into action again at a moment’s notice.

Sung let go, and Phobos stumbled forward. He massaged his wrists, sore both from the handcuffs and from the nunchuck chains, and his whole body just sagged as the adrenaline faded. They were done, right? They had to be done. He couldn’t do anymore. All he could do now was drop to his knees next to Meouch, grab the fallen blaster rifle, and shoot through the bonds on Meouch’s wrists.

The cuffs fell into the snow, and Meouch rolled his shoulders as he pulled his hands back in front of him. “Oh god. Okay. That’s better,” he grunted. He gave Phobos a thank you pat on the shoulder, and then looked up at Sung and Havve.

Sung was shaking his head as he reholstered his nunchucks. He took a deep breath. “Well I’ll be damned.” He smiled and tucked his hands on his hips. “How did you two… Y’know what, no. Let’s get out of here, first. I don’t wanna stick around for these guys to wake up,” he said, looking at one of the fallen smugglers. He nudged the unconscious body with his foot.

“They don’t have to wake up if you don’t want them to,” Havve chimed in, spinning one of his knives in his hand. It, along with his white armor, was streaked in blood.

“Havve, what did I tell you about being judge, jury, and executioner?”

Havve let out a heavy sigh, his chest deflating and the sound of heavy static coming from his speaker. “To not to.”

“That’s right. Put the knives away. We won, it’s all good,” Sung said with a curt nod. “Self defense is one thing, but… Yeah. C’mon, let’s get a move on. Unless,” he motioned to Phobos and Meouch, “you guys had anything here you needed to do first?”

Phobos looked at Meouch. They both turned to look at the house, currently being consumed by flames. They looked at Sung. Meouch shook his head gently, letting some of the snow fall from his mane.

“Get us the fuck out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Bassline Bitch" by the Nova Twins.
> 
> Hell yeah! Sung and Havve are back! The boys are saved! The next chapter is the last one, and I can't wait to share it with you. Sorry this chapter came late, I had another busy busy weekend! Hope you all have a great week!


	21. there is a place here in this house that you can stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... they did it. Meouch and Phobos found a way off-planet. So... now what?

Meouch stared out the window as the ship took off, looking at the burning house below them. All their supplies, the guitar, Phobos’s book… all of it was gone, now. Not that he needed any of that stuff, but… they’d worked hard for it. They made that little home together. How sad was it that he was going to miss that place?

They coasted up into the atmosphere, the house getting smaller and smaller until all he could see was the light from the fire, surrounded by the darkness of night, and then nothing as the view was swallowed up by smoke and clouds. Goodbye, dead snowy hellscape planet. Hello… something different.

He and Phobos sat in the ship’s galley, at a diner-style table next to the large viewport window. Sung and Havve were off flying the ship and gathering up medical supplies, so they had a moment of calm in between the chase, the battle, and the upcoming interrogation. Meouch sighed and leaned back against the window. He was so tired.

“Hey, Phobs,” he said quietly, just audible over the music that was still blasting up in the bridge, and Phobos turned his head away from the window. “Um, I just wanted to say… thanks, for stickin’ up for me back there.” Meouch looked down at his leg, sprawled out on the bench and elevated on blankets under his ankle. He scratched his knee. “Y’know, that shit with Rowley… You didn’t have to stay and protect me, but you did. So… thanks.”

He glanced up out of the corner of his eye, and saw Phobos smile. He smiled back.

Sung and Havve came in through the sliding double doors, the music louder for a second as they entered, bringing first aid kits and more blankets. “Okay, here we go, comin’ through,” Sung chanted, walking over and depositing his armfulls of stuff onto the kitchen table. “Who’s hurt the most?”

Phobos pointed to Meouch, who raised his hand. Sung immediately got to work removing Meouch’s boot--ow--and inspecting his twisted ankle--ow--while Havve tossed some blankets and a small notepad and pen to Phobos.

“Okay, sooo,” Sung started, not even bothering to glance up as he gingerly wrapped Meouch’s ankle up in a bandage. “What exactly the fuck happened?”

“Oh no no,” Meouch chuckled. “No, not this time. I’m not answering any questions until you guys tell us who the fuck you are.”

“Uh, we’re the guys who just saved your asses?” Havve shot back lightheartedly, as he popped open a can of disinfectant spray. He rolled up the sleeve of Phobos’s suit to get access to the deep cut on his forearm. “We got you out of that mess, the least you could do is--”

“Uh, you got us  _ into _ that mess, what with your fuckin’  _ Time Crystal _ that you have just lyin’ around,” Meouch said, eyebrows raised and pointing at Sung and Havve with one finger. Both of them looked up at him at once, and he laughed. “Yeah, don’t think we didn’t figure out what the hell that big glowin’ rock is. Fuckin’ time travelers. Of course we would get picked up by you wierdos.” He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the window. “Which, you couldn’t have rescued us any sooner? We were down there for fuckin’  _ weeks.” _

“Yeah, you smell like it,” Sung smirked.

“I’ll have you know we took baths down there! You think that shit was fuckin’ easy?!”

Havve spoke just as Sung opened his mouth to retort back. “We had no way of finding you guys. You broke our damn crystal, and by the time we got it fixed, any trail you’d left behind was long gone. We had to manually scan through time and space to try and find any sign of you again,” he said, his monotone robot voice sounding disapproving. He sprayed the cut on Phobos’s arm with disinfectant, and Phobos hissed between his teeth. “I didn’t even want to look for you guys--figured you were more trouble than you were worth, and you were probably busy killing each other anyway--but Sung insisted. So.” He recapped the spray and set it down on the table with a snap of his wrist. “How about you tell the two nice time travelers who saved your lives what happened?”

Meouch looked at Phobos, who just shrugged. He couldn’t really write with his arm occupied, could he? Plus, the guy looked completely beat. They had had a full day of working on the ship and a night of partying  _ before _ Rowley had ever showed up, and Phobos clearly wasn’t used to being in big fights like that. Meouch cut him some slack and took a deep breath in through his nose. “We, ah.... We realized, down there, that we… had more in common than we thought,” he muttered. “Realized we were both runnin’ from shit, runnin’ from what happened. And, uh, y’know, turns out Phobos is pretty cool when he’s not tryin’ to kill you.”

“Wait,” Sung said, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You guys were trying to kill each other for  _ weeks, _ you hated each other’s guts, and now you’re friends?”

Meouch looked to Phobos again. As of earlier that night? Yeah. They  _ were _ friends, weren’t they? He knew what he said earlier, when they had been running for their lives. He’d never had someone who stuck by him like that when it was life or death. Meouch had called him his best friend. But Phobos had never really gotten the chance to respond. What if…?

Phobos, using his non-dominant hand, opened up the notepad Havve had given him and clicked the pen. It took him a little bit to write what he wanted to say, and it was barely legible, but he flipped it around when he was done for everyone else to see.  _ Best friends. _

Meouch beamed, and Sung clapped his hands together. “Oh, fuck yeah!” Sung cheered, smiling even wider than Meouch was. “I love that shit! That’s just like how me and Havve became friends, right big guy?”

Havve rolled his optics as he finished wrapping up Phobos’s arm. “That is  _ not _ how we became friends.”

“Aw c’mon, yes it was. I fixed you, you tried to strangle me, we worked it out!”

“I still might strangle you.”

Meouch raised his hand. “I’ll hold him down for you.”

“Hey!” Sung yelled, and the others laughed. It felt good to laugh, to be in the presence of other people, and to not be scared for his life. Meouch, despite his injuries and the exhaustion… felt good.

“All right cone boy, your turn,” Meouch said. “What’s your guys’s deal? Like, why did you even pick me and Phobos up in the first place?”

Sung laughed nervously, his smile twitching, and he focused down on wrapping up Meouch’s ankle. “Well gosh, it sure as hell sounds fuckin’ silly now, especially after all that life or death shit.”

Havve got up from the table and went over to the fridge, hopefully to get food and drinks. Meouch all at once realized that he was starving and in desperate need of alcohol. “I mean,” Havve said, rummaging around in the fridge, “it was silly before.”

“Havve, not helping,” Sung said. He cleared his throat and tied off the bandage. “So, uh… Commander. You play bass, right?”

Meouch sat up straight. “... Oh, are you shtting me?” he asked. He already had a sinking feeling where this was going.

“Yeah, so getting to the point, uh, Havve and I are in a band?” Sung shrugged up at him, smiling the most awkward smile Meouch had ever seen. “And we’re short a couple instruments? And from what we’ve heard, you’re really good, and also you seem to be out of a smuggling job for the time being, so…?”

Meouch stared with his mouth open, and his lips curled into a smile as he started to laugh. It started as just a chuckle, but then he was closing his eyes and doubling over, placing his hand on his knee for support. “Oh, you are  _ fucking shitting me,” _ he wheezed.

“Told you it was silly,” Havve said, stepping back to the table and nudging a bottle of water into Meouch’s hand. He tossed a second one to Phobos, who fumbled and caught it against his chest.

“Doc, you’re too late,” Meouch said in between laughs. He uncapped the bottle and brought it to his lips. “I’m already in a band.”

Sung and Havve both snapped their heads to look at him. “What, what?” Sung sputtered, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Yeah, man. Me and Phobs. We got a band.” He smirked and fist bumped Phobos, who was looking equally smug.

“No you don’t. No way,” Havve said.

“What the hell does Phobos  _ play?” _ Sung asked.

“Guitar. Dude fuckin’ rips.” Meouch took a satisfied sip of water while the other two struggled to compute that statement. “Yeah, no joke. We decided like, three hours ago, that once we got off that planet, we should team up and get some instruments. It’s not like we have anywhere else to go, so, y’know. Why the hell not?”

They all turned to look at Phobos, who gave a shrug and a nod that said  _ yeah, pretty much. _

“Is that so,” Sung hummed. He seemed to think it over for a moment, one hand cupping his chin, the other crossed over his chest. “Gentlemen, a moment please while Havve and I deliberate.” He pulled Havve over, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and turning around so they could whisper in semi-private.

Well, Sung was whispering, anyway. Either Havve wasn’t capable of it, or he was just choosing not to, because he continued talking in his normal volume. “... Yeah. … We could. … Okay, no, that’s stupid. What about--Yeah. … Only if you ditch the cape. ...  _ Yes,  _ I’m serious. … Okay.” Meouch and Phobos were trying not to laugh as the two broke out of their awkward huddle, having overheard half of the conversation like it was a phone call.

“Okay,” Sung said, clapping his hands together, as if they hadn’t just heard almost everything. “We have a proposition for you.” He pressed his lips together, making a strained smile, and held his arms out wide. “Can we join your band?”

Meouch’s brain short circuited, and he could only stare at them both for a second before he burst out laughing. This whole situation was so god damn stupid, and he was so god damn tired, that he just couldn’t stop. “Oh god, I got the giggles, hang on,” he wheezed, covering his face with his hand.

Phobos, who had been trying to keep a straight face, broke character at that, unable to stifle his laughter any more. His breathing was extremely shallow, and his hand was clutching his rib, but he still managed to choke out a few laughs before they devolved into coughs.

“Ah shit dude, you all right?” Meouch gasped, trying to catch his breath. Phobos nodded, hiccuping and coughing now more than laughing, and pointed at his side.  _ I’m okay, _ he mouthed.

“You sure?” Sung asked. “You guys look pretty beat up. That whole big fight aside, I’m sure you’re feeling pretty rough. Maybe we should save band talk for later? We have room for you guys to stay and rest up until you’re feeling better, we can--”

Meouch held his hand up to stop him. “Doc, I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You get us healed up and you take me to get a cheeseburger and a pack of smokes, and I’ll consider us officially bandmates. Provided you can actually play, that is. Phobs, what say you?”

Phobos wrote with his dominant hand now that his arm was wrapped up.  _ I second the cheeseburger thing. Any food that’s not dehydrated shit, really. _

Sung’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Meouch shrugged one shoulder. “Ain’t like we got anywhere else to go. ‘Sides, if I head out on my own, Rowley will kill my ass. I could use the backup. And Phobos didn’t have any plans either, so…”

“Well damn, all right then. Works for me,” Sung said. “What ‘bout you, Havve?”

“I’m going to hold off until we actually hear them play,” Hogan said, not sounding particularly thrilled. “But if they’re not going to kill each other, I guess I’ll give them a shot.”

“So we’re all in agreement then!” Sung said, clapping his hands together. “Havve, plot a course for the closest space station you can find. We’ll gas up, get some real food, and figure out the rest of the minutia from there. I’m gonna see if we can’t get some bunks set up for our new friends!” He slapped Havve on the shoulder and took off, running excitedly out the door to some other part of the ship.

Havve sighed and rolled his shoulder. A spring  _ twang _ ed and there was a slight crunching noise, and his optics stuttered and flashed for a moment. “I really wish he wouldn’t do that,” he said, and it was unclear whether he was referring to Sung running off without notice, hitting him, or both. “You get used to it, though. The Doc is… excitable.”

Meouch snorted through his nose. “Seems like it,” he said, leaning back into the corner of his seat, resting his head on the window. With Sung out of the room, things already felt calmer. “Uh… Thanks again for saving our asses back there.”

“That’s twice now,” Havve said. “Don’t make it a habit, okay?” He crossed his arms and shot them both a look, his pinprick light eyes somehow conveying disapproval and something a little more lighthearted at the same time. “Sit tight until we dock at a station, all right? Call if you need anything.” He nodded and left, leaving Meouch and Phobos alone once again.

“Well,” Meouch said after a beat, “that was weird.”

Phobos choked out a laugh, his shoulders bouncing up and his head bobbing down towards the table. He shook his head.  _ This is  _ _ so _ _ weird, _ he wrote.  _ What are even the odds? _

“No idea, but y’know what? I’ll take ‘em. If we can cruise with these guys, even for just a little while, until we get our footing…”

_ Yeah, no, definitely. We’ll give it a shot and see how it goes. Worst case scenario, we’ll get our strength back and then head out on our own. _ Phobos smirked.  _ After all,  _ _ they _ _ joined  _ _ our _ _ band. We call the shots. _

“Hell yeah we do,” Meouch said. “Although, I haven’t really done the whole band thing before, so I dunno if I should be the one making the rules and shit.”

_ Me either. I’m definitely not the leader type. _

“And it’s not our ship, so…”

_ Eh, semantics! Whatever happens, we’re in this together. _

Meouch smiled, and looked from the notepad up to his friend. They were both battered and exhausted, tired and drained, but they made it. They’d survived. And now, a whole new adventure was ahead, a far cry from the lives they were leaving behind.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “We’re in this together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Deadlines and Commitments" by The Killers.
> 
> That's it! That's the story! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Writing this story was hard--there were parts I had to write and rewrite a whole mess of times, and I hope its not too noticeable. At the end of the day, while I could've put more hours into polishing this story, I ultimately wanted to get it out to people to read and enjoy. So.... I hope you read and/or enjoyed!
> 
> Another round of thanks to my wonderful editor, Ashe! She edited pretty much the whole front half of the story, and it's so much stronger because of it. Thank you for all your help, babe!
> 
> Have a great week, and I'll catch ya on the flip side :)


End file.
